


Bonds in Blood

by icarus_chained



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Curses, Desperation, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos, Loyalty, Mercy - Freeform, Negotiations, Post-Dishonored (Video Game), Promises, Slavery, Unwilling Bond, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: When Daud had been very young, his mother had told him two things. Never make an enemy of a witch, she said, and never,evershow your throat. Never submit. But Daud had been taken before she had the chance to explain why she said those things. Why they were linked. What curse ran in his blood.And now, decades later, having offered his throat to a merciful man, Daud has finally found out. Now all he and Corvo Attano have to do is deal with the consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably more a concept than a proper story, but it seemed like an interesting idea to play with. Heh. Also, possibly a bit pre-Daud/Corvo.

When Daud had been very young, his mother had told him two things. Never make an enemy of a witch, she said, and never, _ever_ show your throat. Never submit, she meant. Fight or die, fight until your last breath, but never, ever surrender. Not where it counts. Bide your time, if you have to, wait them out, but _never_ willingly give them your neck.

It was good advice. Both pieces. Had been, even at the time, so he’d listened to it. He’d presumed the latter part had stemmed from the circumstances of his birth. The pirate ship. The former he’d had no clue. It seemed sensible anyway. So he’d listened.

Or he thought he had. He _thought_ he’d listened. But it hadn’t been until a long, bitter few decades later that he’d properly understood.

Two things, she’d told him. Two pieces of advice. But they weren’t two pieces. They were one.

Never piss off a witch, and never show your throat. Never show your throat … because once, a very long time ago, your mother pissed off a witch. 

And he never would have known, if he hadn’t gotten tired.

_You see, old man?_ whispered Billie’s voice in his head. _This is what happens when you weaken. This is what happens when you let yourself get soft_.

Yeah. Yeah, he knew that. He knew.

It was a nice night. For Dunwall. There was a full moon, bright enough through the clouds that it almost matched the floodlights. He could see most of the city from up here. Whatever else you could say about the Tower, it did have a good view. 

The gazebo most of all. 

There was a rush of displaced air behind him. Someone traversing in. He didn’t have to look to know who. He probably never would again.

“… Daud.”

To his credit, Attano sounded hesitant. Stiff and uneasy. Though whether that was the circumstance, or just the location, Daud couldn’t tell. Likely neither of them would ever be comfortable in this place again. Her blood no longer decorated it. They’d cleaned that up long ago. Even still.

It had been masochism to come here. To this spot, specifically. He knew that. His skin was trying to crawl from his flesh as it was, without ever coming here. He could have gone anywhere else in the Tower. Waited anywhere, waited in some _office_, while Attano brought his child Empress home and tucked her away among people he trusted once more. It was nothing but self-hatred that could have guided his steps to this place instead. This spot, where he’d done the one thing that had damned him more than any other.

But that was why, maybe. Consequences had called due. Nooses had pulled closed. Where else could he go, except here? Where else would have suited, but the place that started it all?

He felt Attano close the gap. Not sensed it, _felt_ it. His mother’s curse under his skin. He hadn’t known. He’d thought it her bloody-mindedness. Her pride. Never submit. Never surrender. He’d thought it was just that people like them died fighting or not at all. That those who lived by the knife died by the knife. He’d thought it was just her _creed_. He hadn’t known it was her curse.

Bare your throat to someone, bare it willingly, and they _owned_ you. Bare your throat, just once, and you can never part from them again.

Attano circled him warily. Fetched up against one of the pillars, his arms held loosely and readily at his sides. Ready to lunge, if need be. Ready to fight. He’d skirted the place where she’d fallen. By instinct or recollection. He was coiled tighter than a spring. All violence, just barely leashed. All _fear_. Of Daud, or of betrayal, or of the world, or all of the above. Daud bit back a ragged laugh. Swallowed down a black little chuckle at the irony. He mastered himself, and turned enough to meet the man’s eyes. Turned to face him properly.

Attano stared at him. His expression was … Wary. And angry. And sick. Well. Daud couldn’t blame him there. The bitterest pill he’d ever had to swallow. And he doubted it tasted any better when shared.

“… I need you to explain this,” the man rasped finally. Hunched and vibrating. As though Daud wasn’t the only one about to claw his way out of his skin. “I can feel it. Whatever it is. I’d have killed you at the Hound Pits if I didn’t. But I need to know what it _is_.”

He’d been wild-eyed when Daud caught up with him. After Rudshore. He’d been lean and savage and standing over two bundled bodies in the courtyard. The pub and the shoreline had been littered with the snoring bodies of Watchmen. Unconscious. Not dead. He’d held himself back. Just enough. But his daughter was gone, his friends or at least colleagues had been murdered, and his patience had very clearly been long since lost. When Daud appeared, he’d obviously taken it as betrayal. As an attempt at vengeance. He’d only just listened to reason. Or magic. He’d only just held off, and let Daud prove his intentions at the Lighthouse.

On the promise, naturally, that Daud would tell him everything once it was done.

Daud closed his eyes. Brought a hand up to wipe shakily at his mouth. He could taste the leather of the glove. Could taste river water and blood. Fitting, he thought. Fitting enough.

“… I didn’t know,” he said. Needing to get that out there first. “I swear by the Outsider I didn’t know. My mother … She never told me. Or, she told me what to avoid. She didn’t tell me why. And then there was no more chance to ask her anymore.”

He’d been taken too early. Stolen away. He imagined she _would_ have told him, if not for that. She’d never hidden anything else from him. Not the poisons, not how he’d been born, not the look in her eye when someone had to die. None of it. She’d always told him the knife-edged truth, every time. If he hadn’t been taken, she would have told him. He believed that.

But men had taken note of his clever hands, and she’d never gotten the chance.

And now … here they were.

Attano was glaring at him, when he made himself look again. He was gripping the pillar behind him with both hands. As though to keep himself from lunging. He was bent forward from the waist, but both legs were braced to shove himself back into the stone. The perfect image of a man torn between lunging forward and running the fuck away. It was … It was perfect, Daud thought distantly. Exactly right.

“_Explain_,” Attano grated, the last of his patience clearly shot to shit. Daud really shouldn’t have come here. Not for this. He should have picked anywhere else in Dunwall. But it was too late now. For quite a lot of things.

“She was cursed,” he said. As swiftly and bluntly as he could. As if that would make it easier. Or at least _faster_. “My mother. She was from … the islands around Pandyssia. She wasn’t Marked. Or a witch. But she crossed one, somewhere along the line. Before I was born. She crossed a witch and was cursed for it. And through her … so was I. She told me what to avoid. Two things, that I should never, ever do. I’ve done both of them, the past year. Among … a thousand other things. But the last … the last was in Rudshore. And I didn’t know, until you’d left and the black-eyed bastard explained to me what I’d done.”

He’d felt the curse take hold. He hadn’t known what it was, but he’d felt it take hold. Felt it the moment Attano’s blade slipped away from his throat. The throat Daud had _offered him_. Never surrender. Never submit. But he’d been _tired_. The death of the Empress had changed him. Had _damaged_ him. He’d looked into the man’s eyes, and he hadn’t … 

He hadn’t been able to force Attano to kill him. Offer him the option, yes, but he hadn’t been able to force it to the knife. Not fully. There’d been nothing left of the man. Nothing but spit and anguish and ruin. It had been Daud’s fault. He hadn’t been able to force Attano any more.

So he’d left him the choice, instead. For the first time in his life. He’d bared his throat, and left his life in someone else’s hands.

Apparently, a lot more permanently than he’d planned.

As the Outsider had explained to him. Far too late. Though he’d apologised for that. Genuinely, Daud almost thought. The bastard had expected Attano to kill him. Which was fair enough. They both had. They’d both thought it would come down to the knife and nothing else. It was tradition, Daud suspected, when two Marked met. It was to be expected that only one would survive. He’d given Attano more than enough reason. His curse should never have been given a chance to matter.

But then, when had Attano ever done what anyone expected him to do? 

If he hadn’t been unexpected, if he hadn’t been home two days early from the sea, none of them would have been in this position to start with.

He looked up. Held Attano’s gaze, the dark, fearsome weight of it. The curse boiled under his skin. It wanted to force him to his knees. It wanted him to bare his throat all over again. It was only spite and his mother’s pride that kept him from following through. Whatever Attano was feeling, it had him clawing at the stone beneath his hands in his turn. Whatever the curse wanted from _him_, it was clearly sitting just as well. Which was … more than Daud would have thought to expect, really. Given what he imagined the magic must be asking.

Let’s state it plain, hmm? Get it over with. Let’s say the words, and see how they fall.

“… I belong to you,” he said softly. Exhaustedly. Clenching his fists to keep himself off his knees. “And I don’t mean metaphorically. If I’d fought you and won, I’d be fine. If I’d fought you and died, I’d still be fine. But I sub—I surrendered. I gave in. And now the curse in my blood says my life is yours. In … In every possible way. I can’t leave. I can’t run from you.”

It put the ship in such a different light. The one he’d been conceived on. The one his mother had almost been broken on. Never submit, she’d told him. Never surrender. Bide your time if you have to, let them take when you can’t stop it, but never, _ever_ go willingly. Not where it matters. Not where it counts. Never give yourself up, because if you do, you’ll never come back out.

She’d known. She’d known what would happen if she’d ever given in. Even once. Even just in her thoughts. She’d known what would become of her. And she’d fought it until her last breath. She’d never gotten tired of fighting. She’d never been content to just lie down.

She was the strongest person he knew. She always had been.

Though she might have liked Attano. In any other circumstance but this one. Another perfect little irony to add to the pile. She might have liked him. If ever there was a man to never stop fighting, it was Corvo Attano. From the Blade Verbena all the way back when, to that day on this spot when Daud had torn everything away from him, to Burrows and Coldridge and Rudshore and out the other side. He’d never bowed. Never broken, never pled his guilt and waited at Burrows’ pleasure. He’d fought. All the way down the line. He’d never stopped.

If magic was going to force Daud to bow to anyone, he supposed …

Damn it. He really was too tired for this. Billie’d been right. He’d let himself get too soft.

“… Can it be undone?” Attano asked. Thinly enough that Daud almost didn’t hear him at first. He’d tensed only further, when Daud looked at him. His fingernails were starting to bloody the stone under his hands. Daud blinked, a little, and Attano met his eyes. Something stark, something _terrible_ waiting there. “It’s a curse. Can it be _broken_?”

He said it so desperately. With such _revulsion_. Daud almost flinched. He’d known it would be a bitter pill to swallow. Being bound to _him_, of all people. But the hatred in Attano’s voice was an order of magnitude again.

“… If there’s a way, my mother never found it,” he answered anyway. Flatly and dully. Because he had to. “She would have looked. And the black-eyed bastard didn’t offer a solution either.”

Attano closed his eyes. His face twisted, something half between revulsion and _pain_. Like something was hurting him. Or like … like he was _fighting_ something. Like he was fighting with something underneath his skin. Daud straightened, a little. Reared up, and stared with narrowed eyes at the man. He was holding rigid against the magic himself. He’d locked his knees long since, out of nothing but pure spite. It did hurt. Like a thousand bloodflies buzzing in his veins. But he had reason to fight. He had something to fight _against_. What the fuck was Attano doing?

“Get it out,” Attano whispered. Not to him. To someone else. Opening his eyes, glaring at the darkness of Dunwall beyond the walls. “Outsider. I don’t want it. Get it _out_.”

… Ah. But the Outsider—

“I can’t,” said the god. Almost gently. Appearing in the centre of the gazebo, hovering between them curiously. Appearing for _Attano_, of _course_. He glanced at Daud, a careful, impassive expression on his face. Looked at _Attano_, and … softened. Slightly. “Truly, Corvo. These things were wrought by the choices of mortals. By your choices, and Daud’s. And the witch and the mother that came before. They’re not mine to wipe away. I cannot take it from you.”

Not that he would, even if he could, Daud thought. More than a little bitterly. This must be _far_ too interesting to even think of passing up. But the bastard gave a decent impression of sincerity, at least. He managed to sound at least somewhat regretful.

Who knew. Maybe he even was, at that.

“I’m sorry, Corvo,” the Outsider said, drifting back up towards the ceiling, already going dark and faded at the edges. “This one is between you and Daud. If you want a solution to it, I’m afraid, you’ll have to find it yourselves.”

And then he vanished. Because _of course he did_. Because the bastard was only variably helpful at the absolute best of times. Attano made a noise at the loss. A thin, frustrated sound, one hand thumping back against the pillar. He hadn’t learned yet, Daud thought. He hadn’t learned not to expect any better. Or was just worn too thin right now to care.

And maybe the Outsider did have a point. Just this once. Just this one time.

It wasn’t anything the god had done that had led them here. Not really. It was their own choices, start to finish. When the magic finally softened his knees, by attrition if nothing else, Daud would have no one to blame but himself. He’d done the one thing his mother had told him never to do. He’d let her down. He’d chosen not to fight, not to kill, and not to kill _himself_ when it came down to it. That was on him. 

Anything that happened from here on out … was his price to pay.

They stood there in silence for quite some time. The Lord Protector and him. With the city behind them, and the spectre of Jessamine Kaldwin’s blood between them. Every passing second, the curse building in his veins hammered at him to _kneel_. To bow, to break. To offer useless apology. Daud didn’t. He could feel the magic between them like a blade on his neck. He could feel the pull towards the man like a noose. But his mother had raised him better. Even if he couldn’t leave, even if he belonged to the man for however long was left of his life, he still wouldn’t _bend_. Not until Attano forced it out of him.

And as the silence stretched, he began to wonder if Attano was planning to.

But no. No. The first thing out of the Lord Protector’s mouth, when he stirred himself again, was another question entirely.

A worse one. Maybe. In its way.

“Do you need me to kill you?” the man rasped quietly. Sagging now, more leaning on the pillar than pressing back against it. He looked at Daud, and there was no hatred in his face anymore. Bitterness, a twist of his mouth, but no revulsion. Daud almost blinked at the change. All he saw in Attano’s face now was exhaustion. “Do you … want me to?”

Daud opened his mouth. And then closed it again, while he waited for words to assemble themselves. Or thoughts.

“Do you want to?” he heard himself asking. Distantly. “I can’t stop you now, if you ask it.”

He couldn’t fight the man. That was one thing he _did_ know. Even the thought of it froze every muscle in his body, the magic clamping down and holding tight. He’d bared his throat once already and, as far as the magic was concerned, once and for all. The curse wouldn’t let him go back on that. Attano could do absolutely anything he wanted to Daud now, and he wouldn’t be able to lift a hand to stop him. He wouldn’t be able to run either. Probably. He might have more leeway on that one than the other. He couldn’t raise a hand, but he might be able to dodge. For a while.

Practically speaking, though, if Attano wanted him dead, he’d be dead. If Attano wanted him _worse_ than dead … he’d be that too.

But Attano winced badly. Shook his head.

“No,” he said softly. “I didn’t then. I don’t now. It won’t bring her back. And you’re already sorry. There’s nothing else that can be bought by it.”

Daud flinched too. For the baldness of it, mostly. For the futility.

“I’m not asking for me,” Attano went on. Pushing himself upright. Standing out a bit from the pillar. “I don’t want this thing. I don’t want it inside me. But I’m not the one it’s pointed at. What it asks … I couldn’t bear it. A prison without an end. I’m asking … If you need me to pre-empt it. If you need me to stop it before it starts.”

He was asking, Daud realised belatedly, if Daud needed him to offer mercy once more. Of a different sort than before. Because it was, apparently, still in some supply.

Daud … honestly didn’t know how to answer that.

If it had been almost anyone else, he would. If it had been anyone else, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Daud would have already done everything in his power to kill himself, kill his enemy, or force his enemy to kill him. Whichever proved practical fastest. Attano wasn’t wrong. The thought of this thing, the _feel_ of it, the noose around his neck that bound him to the other man … It was past bearing. He’d had a loaded crossbow ready in Rudshore. He’d _thought_ about it. Anyone else, and they’d be far past this conversation already.

But that was the thing. That was the problem. With anyone else, they’d never have gotten this far in the first place. With anyone else, mercy would never have been an option.

With anyone else in this void-damned world, Daud would never have bared his throat to start with.

The Empress might have broken him. Billie’s betrayal might have splintered him. Delilah might have worn him out. But anyone else he would still have fought. To the knife. To the last. If Attano had been any different than he was, if he hadn’t shown himself at every possible turn to be a decent, patient, merciful man, Daud would not have done as he did. He wouldn’t have sent his Whalers off, and been content to wait for Attano’s decision. 

His life wouldn’t be in Attano’s hands right now, if some part of Daud hadn’t been content to put it there in the first place.

He hadn’t planned for it to be like _this_, of course. For Attano to hold it this way. He’d hoped for a quick death at best, if only because it had seemed vaguely obscene to hope for anything more. Had he known … If he’d known about the curse in advance, he might have made a different choice. Would _probably_ have made a different choice. He’d have done as his mother did. He’d have fought. He’d have made himself. Even if he had to kill Attano to manage it. He would never have allowed this, had he known enough to try and avoid it.

But now that it had happened, now that it was already too late …

“… I’d like to hope there’s more options than that,” he said finally. Cautiously. Testing his weight on _extremely_ shaky ground. 

Attano’s eyes narrowed. His weight shifted, caution and wariness and a thread of fear showing in his eyes too. It surprised Daud, for a second. Until he remembered the poison, and the bodies in the Hound Pits courtyard. Of course. ‘Other options’, in Attano’s experience, usually wound up going through him. And it was, to be fair, the next logical choice. Or the _first_ logical choice. But that chance had already passed. Daud was aiming for something different now.

“My mother never found a way to break the curse,” he said carefully. “I think it was at least in part because she never planned to let it become necessary. She was … stronger than I am. She wouldn’t have allowed what I have. I think perhaps she didn’t look as hard as she might have, because she never planned to let the curse gain a hold in the first place. On either of us. There … might still be something out there to find. For someone looking a bit more … urgently.”

Urgently, he said. Yes. That was the word for it. One of them, at least. 

It was a lot of ask. He knew that. He was asking a man who’d never asked for any of this, a man whose lover he’d _murdered_, to remain bound to him for void knew how long. Letting him look for something that might not even exist, when killing him would be so much easier. Quicker, easier. Likely fairer to all concerned. It was … a lot to ask. He asked it anyway.

And Attano, it seemed, at the end of the day, was a very merciful man.

“… I can’t leave Emily,” he said finally. After digesting that. Digesting Daud’s gall. Taking it with surprising equanimity. “You know that. She’s tied here, to the throne, and I’m tied to her. If you’re tied to _me_ … You won’t be able to search very far.” 

It was half a warning. Half a line in the sand, that Attano had one goal, one person to whom he would pledge his life, and Daud was _not_ it. But Daud felt relief starburst through him anyway. He felt a stagger in his chest that almost dropped him to his knees, just like the curse wanted. Because it was also half _permission_. It was Attano entertaining the idea of a search enough to point out a practical issue with it. It was Attano … tentatively stating a willingness to allow him, allow _them_, more options than slavery or death.

“… I’ll find a way,” he breathed, managing _not_ to kneel at the man’s feet. “I have … If you’ll allow me contact with my Whalers …”

He’d left them in Rudshore. Deliberately, because they _would_ have gone through Attano for him. The ones that were left. To spare him this, they’d have gone for Attano without a second thought. And Attano would have fought, because all Attano _did_ these days was fight, because Attano had an Empress to protect and would never fail her again, and Attano …

Might have fallen. Eventually. But he’d have taken so many with him. And Daud wasn’t worth that. Either part of it. Not anymore, and probably not ever.

And that was leaving aside the spectre, the nightmare, that this curse might have raised more than _Attano’s_ blade in the Lord Protector’s defense. At the very best, Daud would not have been able to help his men, would not have been able to protect them. At the _worst_ …

No. He wouldn’t countenance that. Not ever.

So they were in Rudshore. Daud had left them there, to come here and … decide his fate. Knowing, all the while, that there was every chance he wouldn’t be able to leave again afterwards. One way or another. There was a noose of magic around his neck. He wasn’t sure how far it would stretch, now that he’d let it within feet of its goal. He’d had leeway in Rudshore. Because the curse had only just taken hold, because Attano had already left. But now … The breadth of the Tower, at least. Apparently. But maybe not more than that. Maybe he’d never get more than half a mile from the Lord Protector again. His men would come looking for him eventually. Thomas, at least. If they came without Attano’s leave, after not one but _two_ coup attempts …

He had needed to ask. As much as it galled him. He needed to ask permission. For the sake of keeping everyone alive who needed to be. He had to ask.

Attano twitched oddly at it, though. A hint of the hatred, a hint of the revulsion from before. And, too, a hint of wariness. Fear. If he had any sense at all, he’d be calculating Daud’s best chances of going through him as well. The Whalers were a good means. If Daud was willing to sacrifice them, anyway. They were a good way for Daud to escape this bond, and leave Attano dead and his Empress, his _daughter_, bereft and alone behind him. _Again_. So that was … a reasonable fear. An excellent reason to refuse.

Or to slaughter them from the off, and remove the option further down the line.

It was what Daud would have done. A year ago. It’s what Burrows would have done too. What Burrows had tried to do, several times, once he’d realised that he’d grabbed several tigers by the tail. A knife, a plague, and a lord protector. All twisting in his grasp, threatening to turn at any moment and bite his hand clean off. It must have been such an interesting year for the man. Knowing his grasp on power was at once too tight and too weak. It was a bad idea to give those you’d forced any leeway. And any one of them alone would have been too much for Burrows to handle. Let alone all three.

Daud … might be too much for Attano. Even like this. Or Daud and his Whalers might. Attano’s position was already precarious, and he more than knew it. They might be too great a risk for him to leave alive.

But Attano was of a different ilk to Burrows. Or Daud. He would never have risked coming here otherwise. A knife to his own throat would have sorted the problem neatly as well.

“… They’ll agree to conditions,” Attano cautioned finally. Affronted at every turn, and offering leeway anyway. His grip too loose, not too tight, as though it didn’t leave his life-expectancy in the toilet every time. “To come here. I’ll not have assassins in range of Emily again.” He paused, and grimaced slightly. “More than the necessary, anyway.”

More than Daud, he meant. More than the one that couldn’t leave. And that was …

“I’ll have to tell her,” the man said quietly. While Daud winced, having known the second he mentioned her that it was coming. She’d seen him at the Lighthouse. Another terror in a line of them. She’d allowed him, because Attano’s anger and desperation had bled through to her, because she’d known that there was something here that she didn’t understand yet. Something that would need to be explained before she could have him shot or sent away. Her options now …

Well. She could still have him shot, at least. If it really was past bearing down the line.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. Meaning it. Genuinely. “I didn’t know. I’d have forced us through to something else if I had. This wasn’t … This was never what I had in mind, bodyguard.”

If he’d been a fraction less tired. Less weak. If he’d _known_.

But it was too late now. They’d just have to deal with it.

“… I know,” Attano said. Quietly. Straightening slowly, loosening the hands he still held ready for violence. Taking Daud at his word. Something in Daud relaxed at the sight of it. He wasn’t sure if it was just relief, just his own hands softening back from violence, or if …

If it had been the curse. Winding tighter and tighter with every moment of the man’s fear. His _dissatisfaction_.

But Daud was not thinking about that, or he’d find a knife in his hand and at his own throat.

Attano stood cautiously for a moment. Carefully. Balanced on the balls of his feet, watching Daud thoughtfully. And then he firmed his jaw, and moved to stand beside him. Held out his open hand, slowly and carefully, while Daud stiffened and stared at him.

“We’ll find a way out of this,” he said softly. His lean face grim and stubborn. The look Burrows had probably seen in Coldridge. The look Daud had seen, many times, in his mother’s eyes. “I’m not a witch, to want this from anyone. We will find a way out of it. And until that time, we will … deal with it as best we can. We keep an even keel between us. Agreed?”

A hint of warning, in that. A hint of fear. But far more leeway than Daud would ever have gotten from anyone else.

He nodded tiredly, and reached out to clasp the man’s hand.

The magic _hammered_ him. The instant he made contact. The curse inside him boiled to the fore and dropped him to his _knees_. His kneecaps cracked off the floor. Pain sparked up his wrist, where he’d tried to catch himself on his other hand. His breath punched out of him, a ragged, winded noise like someone’d socked him in the gut. The magic _boiled_. Seized around their joined hands like a Wall of Light. Daud tried to make a noise. Tried to rip his hand away. The pain whited out his vision for the attempt.

He wasn’t sure how long it went on. How long it buffeted him in a white blizzard of agony. But then it stopped. Abruptly. Then it shorted out. And he looked up to find that Attano had ripped _his_ hand away. Had flung himself at least three paces to the side. And was standing there. Staring at him. His face a mask of horror, and his right hand, the hand he’d offered, gripped white-knuckled and near to breaking in his left.

Where the Outsider’s Mark gleamed blue-gold. Shining with a fierce and _angry_ light.

Daud stared back. Hunched forward, on hands and knees at the man’s feet. Trying to force the breath back into his lungs. Shock coated his thoughts. Made them distant, made them weak. The sensation of it rocked through him. The … The _helplessness_. The complete and utter helplessness.

And, somewhere distant, the knowledge that some witch way back when, some insane _bitch_ like Delilah, had wanted to force it on his mother. 

Hatred bubbled in his gut. Rage and bitterness and _hatred_. All the emotions that had drawn the Outsider to him, once upon a time. But the Void God couldn’t help him now. The black-eyed bastard couldn’t take this one away. He’d have to manage _that_ himself.

… With, possibly, some help.

“… _Right_,” Attano whispered. Hoarse and shocked, and _ripe_ with revulsion. Not for him, Daud was realising. Not for him at all. “No touching. No … contact. _Got it_.”

It cracked a laugh out of Daud. Just the … the horrified pragmatism of it. The strained nerves and offended mercy of the man. But Attano had his own reasons to be unfond of torture. He had his own past and his own creed. Daud was just lucky to be reaping the benefits of it.

… Lucky. Yes. Very, very lucky. But there’d been a reason he’d bared his throat to this man.

He got his feet. Slowly. Windedly. He knuckled blood from his bitten tongue off his lips. Attano watched him. Tense and vibrating, once again. His hands knotted into fists. The look in his eyes of a man ready to go to the knife. All the way to the edge. Magic and violence hummed in the air between them. A curse, a bond. But this, _this_ was something else. Something different.

This, Daud thought, was something his mother would not have disapproved of.

“… I’ll hurry,” he said, rubbing the blood off his knuckles with shaking, careful deliberation. Meaning it more than he’d ever meant any oath in his life. “I’ll … look with all urgency. You have my word.”

And he could see from the look on Attano’s face that the Lord Protector took him at his word. And meant his own as fervently.

“As will I,” the man said. As strong a promise. “_My_ word on it.”

All right then, Daud thought. All right.

Let’s be about it, shall we?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily gets to make some horrifying choices too, because curses are fun for the whole family.

Attano let him gather himself for a minute. Backed off a bit, towards the other side of the gazebo, and let Daud get his breath back. Daud couldn’t decide if that was _nice_ or extremely aggravating of the man. Or whether or not the aggravation was at _Attano_ or …

Or the fact that the curse, apparently satisfied by its efforts, suddenly didn’t hum in his veins quite so much. A hundred bloodflies, rather than a thousand. It ebbed back altogether. It seemed that a good sharp shock every now and again would take the sting out of it. A few minutes on his knees in agony would sate the thing just fine.

Rewards for compliance. Naturally. Of course. _Fuck_.

He knew he had a helpless snarl painting his lips. He knew Attano had to hear his hands flexing in and out of fists. He didn’t care. For just a minute, just a second, he _really_ didn’t care.

He didn’t know if this was bearable. He didn’t know how long he’d have the strength to manage it. When he’d have to gear himself up for round two. Round twenty. Round two hundred. He didn’t know if he had the strength to bear this thing, when there was no way to know if it would ever end.

But _fucked_ if he was going to go down without trying. Without _fighting_. There was always the knife. There was always a way out. But _fucked_ if he was going down without at least trying to gut the thing first. 

The _curse_. Not Attano. Daud knew his enemy here. He knew which part of it needed the knife.

However long it took to plant one in it.

The man was looking at him, when he finally mastered himself enough to look around. Attano was watching him, standing lean and careful and steady a little way away. If there had been anything resembling pity on his face, Daud _swore to the Outsider_, he’d have tried to hit the man and _damn_ the consequences. He swore it. 

But whatever expression was on Attano’s face, it … wasn’t that. Daud wasn’t sure what it _was_, but it wasn’t pity. Or satisfaction. So at least there was that.

“… So,” Daud said, after a long moment. When he felt like he could talk without spitting. “Now what, Lord Protector? Where do we go from here?”

In the next few minutes, he mostly meant. The next few hours and days. He knew the long-term was already set. They’d made their promises there, and Daud believed both of them. It was more an idea of the immediate short-term that he was looking for.

Which Attano looked to understand. He tilted his head, his eyes dark and thoughtful for a second, but then wandered close again. Carefully. Not enough to touch. Not enough to be a threat. But enough to make it a conversation again.

The consideration grated. A _lot_. But Daud was in no position to reject it right now.

“Can you call your Whalers from here?” Attano asked. Softly. And not without worry. One hand rested casually near the opening of his coat. Near his weapon. Just in case. Daud almost grinned. There wasn’t a lot of trust left in Lord Corvo Attano, it would seem. Not that Daud could blame him. But he asked anyway. _Offered_ anyway. It was still an extraordinary thing.

“… Yes and no,” he answered. More honestly than he would have given anyone else. “I can call them, but they can only traverse their normal range. They’ll know I want them, and have an idea where I am in relation to them. But it’ll take time to get here from Rudshore.”

If they were near, he could summon them immediately, call them right to him. Half a city away, though, was a different issue. He didn’t enjoy saying it. That kind of tactical information was _not_ the sort he liked handing out. Honestly, though, Attano had them over enough barrels already that it couldn’t make that much difference.

And Attano couldn’t force him to call them against his will. He didn’t think. But that one he _would_ fight to the knife.

The man frowned faintly. Grimaced, a little, and rubbed at his jaw.

“… I need to brief Emily,” he said. Looking away from Daud, out over the city. “I don’t want to leave her long. She won’t sleep until I come back. Not when … Not when I’m out here with you. Not after everything.” Daud flinched, a little bit. Attano’s shoulders tightened as well, though he didn’t say anything more pointed than that. “I’d prefer to talk to your Whalers first. Lay some rules. But if they have to come from Rudshore I don’t know if I can leave it that long.”

And there was another warning underlying that. Daud did catch it. _Attano_ wanted to talk to his Whalers. Attano didn’t know if _he_ could leave it that long. Not Daud. Or regardless of Daud. Promises or no promises, Attano wanted to be there. He clearly did not want Daud summoning armed assassins into Dunwall Tower without his presence and permission.

Which … did make sense. It did. But it _galled_. It had been the better part of twenty years since Daud had been answerable to any man, beyond clients taken by his own choice. The necessity now was—

Necessary. It was _necessary_. And so.

“The Empress first, then?” he asked roughly, and managed to keep a fairly even tone. Not enough to mask his resentment fully, probably, but enough that Attano didn’t take immediate offense. “Brief her first, and my Whalers after?”

Attano looked at him. A long, slow study. Daud bristled instinctively, but tiredness was creeping up again already. Bone-deep weariness. And, if he was honest, no small amount of dread.

The Empress. Emily Kaldwin. Tiny and ten years old, and fearing for her father’s life at his hands. How would she take it, he wondered, to know that the balance had shifted, perhaps permanently, the other way?

Hopefully not gleefully. But he couldn’t deny her the right if she did.

“… If you like,” Attano said. With a soft, strange tone to his voice. Daud glanced at him sharply, but Attano only looked away. Turned, not towards the city this time, but back towards the Tower. “I’d ask you not to leave deliberate holes in our security on the way in, but to be honest we don’t really _have_ any security just yet. Just a few people I trust not to murder her in her sleep. Maybe you’ll have some pointers along the way.”

He sounded … almost more amused than bitter. Or maybe just _tired_. He was quivering still, Daud noticed abruptly. There were fine tremors still running through him. Whether they were after-effects of the curse’s backlash or something else, Daud couldn’t tell. But he had an idea suddenly that he wasn’t the only one at the far end of his rope.

Of course, Attano hadn’t slept in several days. Beyond a catnap in the boat back from the lighthouse, and that had been uneasy at best. Quite possibly, Daud had to admit, because of his own presence. The man had been running on fumes for days, and had been poisoned before that. He probably should have fallen flat on his face quite some time ago, and only his desperate need to understand what was happening, before it hurt anyone else, had kept him going. With that out of the way … falling on his face was very possibly back on the cards.

Which would be extremely unfortunate, because if he _did_ fall flat on his face there would be fuck all Daud could do about it. The thing in his veins was still humming idly to itself. As previously demonstrated, he couldn’t even touch the man without being laid out himself. 

And all things considered, being found next to an unconscious Lord Protector, right now, in _the gazebo of Dunwall Tower_, really would be the final nail in Daud’s coffin.

Not that there wouldn’t be a certain humour to it. A black, black joke.

“… Do you need an Elixir?” he snapped out. Maybe a little too sharply. Attano glanced at him, startled, and Daud gestured disgruntledly down the length of him. “You’re shaking, bodyguard. And if you collapse right now, I don’t like my chances with your Empress much.”

Attano blinked at him for a long second. Bewildered, Daud thought. Suspicious. And then he caught up, all at once, and snorted quietly.

“It might not end well,” he acknowledged. “But no. Thank you. All I need is a bed. Hopefully sometime in the next century. And ideally for no one to die or be kidnapped in the next … let’s be optimistic and call it two days?” He smiled, a bleak twist of a thing that was not remotely humorous. “But there’s work to be done first before we can get to that. So … how about we do it, hmm?”

Daud squinted at him warily. None of that had been the remotest bit reassuring. But the man had a point. They’d very little choice. Nothing to be done now but to _get_ it done. 

“… You’re the boss,” he said, with a certain grim humour of his own. He gestured Attano on ahead of him. “Lead on, Lord Protector. I’m at your service.”

Now and possibly forever. But let’s get the work done first.

Attano took him through the Tower by … less than conventional means. Outsider-assisted means. Up to a ledge on the building exterior, through a vent into the facing wall of the atrium, across the chandeliers to a bedroom in the upstairs interior. Daud had seen him work before, at the lighthouse, but he still had to blink a bit at the casualness of it. And at the grim, almost angry expression on the man’s face during the journey. 

It was good route. Professionally speaking. Some problems, some vulnerabilities, but it was a good access route. Right through the building’s defences. Straight to the heart of Empire. 

Straight to the bedchamber, he very much suspected, of a Lord Regent.

It didn’t look like Attano would need _Daud_ to point out the vulnerabilities in their security. It looked like the Lord Protector had quite a thorough grasp of them himself. From the _assassin’s_ point of view, no less.

It must gall, he thought, while they slipped through a two-sided fireplace into the upstairs corridor. Looking at Attano’s face. It must burn so very badly.

The man brought up his left hand as they came to an open set of corridors. Clenched it into a fist, so that the world went grey and still around them. He strode swiftly forwards, past frozen guards, not even glancing to make sure Daud kept up. When the greyness began to wobble around the edges, he had his hand already half-curled to go again. Daud only pre-empted him with his own time-stop by a hair. The hard, startled look he got in response almost made him regret it.

And then, almost abruptly, they were in a small antechamber into a private room. An _Empress’_ room. And Daud had so very much more to regret again.

Attano turned to face him. While Daud closed the corridor door behind them. Attano spun in front of the interior one, the door to Emily, his whole body braced and defensive once again. His expression thin and savage. He opened his mouth, likely to warn Daud of the consequences of unfortunate actions in _no uncertain terms_, when he …

Stopped. Something in _Daud’s_ expression catching him. Daud had no idea what. But an edge of defensiveness dropped away, and Attano looked at him more thoughtfully.

“… I’ll go first,” the man said, still looking at Daud oddly. “There’s more than Emily in there, and I’d like to warn them before I bring the most wanted man in Dunwall into the presence of their Empress. You can … follow close on, though. It shouldn’t take long.”

Daud only lifted an eyebrow at him. He could _well imagine_. He offered half a bow, unable to keep it from being vaguely mocking, and felt a dangerous prickle run the length of his veins. Felt the thing inside him give a nice, hard jab of warning.

He felt his expression freeze. Felt it curdle. But Attano had already scoffed and turned back to the door by the time he raised his head.

Fortunate, that. So fortunate.

Attano stepped into the inner room in one swift, easy step, one hand already raised calmingly and a name already on his lips. “Geoff,” he started. So, Curnow. “It’s all right. He’s with—”

He cut off, with a faint _oof_ of lost breath, as something made solid contact with his torso. Instinct had Daud already moving before he registered the small, white-clad arms wrapped around the man’s waist, and the childish voice crying: “Corvo!”

The Empress, he realised, slowing. But the motion had already carried him into the doorway, and within sight of everyone in the room.

Guard Captain Curnow had his sword in his hand with impressive speed, even if his expression took a bit longer to go from shock to grim readiness. The woman beside him, one Daud recognised vaguely from the Hound Pits, let out a gasp of horror, but also immediately darted towards Attano and the Empress, putting herself across the child’s back protectively. It … wasn’t a sensible move. It put her right across the Captain’s path, keeping him blocked behind her while Daud had all the time in the world to stab people. Not to mention fouling Attano himself, if the Empress hadn’t done that already. But it was, Daud acknowledged, a very brave instinct nonetheless.

The third person in the room, a familiar grizzled, hairy face, clearly had none such. But then, Daud wouldn’t really have expected any from Anton Sokolov.

“Peace!” Attano called sharply. Tugging Emily sideways with one arm, guiding her and the woman around his torso to be shielded on his lee side. His right hand he held out towards Curnow. “It’s all right, Geoff. I told you. He’s with me.”

He shot Daud a sideways glare while he was at it. Wordlessly telling him to stay _put_ this time. Daud grimaced, but backed off again, holding up both hands to show they were empty.

“As the Protector says,” he agreed, making a deliberate effort to soften his voice. “On my life, I mean no harm.”

Curnow made a disbelieving noise, clearly less than convinced, but one more look at Attano’s face had him reluctantly lowering his blade. He glanced between the Protector and Daud several times, obviously deeply uneasy about this entire venture. Attano’s mouth twisted apologetically. He pulled the woman forward again gently. Steered her back towards the Captain. She went. Reluctantly, a deeply sceptical expression on her face, but she went.

The Empress, however, stayed glued to her Protector’s front. When Daud looked down, he found her glaring angrily up at him. If she was afraid, the anger was clearly overriding it. She pressed both palms to Attano’s stomach, bracing herself as though to push him away from the threat. As though to push _Attano_ further away from Daud. Behind _her_.

Attano’s expression, looking down at her, was for a second as naked and gutted as Daud had ever seen it.

“Why are _you_ here?” the girl asked savagely. Still glaring at him. “Isn’t it fixed already? Can’t you leave us _alone_?”

Her voice cracked at the end. The anger breaking off and a hint of desperation, a hint of _pleading_, creeping through. Daud’s stomach lurched. He opened his mouth. To say _what_, exactly, he had no idea, but he opened his mouth. To tell her he’d leave, possibly. Say it, and mean it. He had a tower’s worth of leash around his neck. He could push it to the full. He could press it to breaking, and leave this girl in peace.

But even as he thought it, the breath came up short in his throat. The buzzing in his veins built through to full strength. Or almost full strength. It wasn’t agony. Not yet. But it froze his breath in his lungs.

“… Everybody out,” Attano said. Catching it. Feeling it, maybe, on his end. His voice went flat and hard as a blade, his arm curling tight around Emily. “The rest of you. Callista, Geoff. Anton. Give us a few minutes. Wait in the anteroom, please.”

It wasn’t a request, really. His voice brooked no argument. All of them looked like they would give him one anyway. For a second, at least. All of them looked like they wanted to argue. And then, perhaps realising the futility, they filed out, one by one. Sokolov with a scoff, the woman with a worried glance, and Curnow …

Curnow with the palm of his hand on his sword hilt, and a grim nod exchanged with Attano.

And then there was just the three of them. Just Daud, Attano, and Attano’s Empress.

“Daud,” Attano said, voice clipped and vibrating with hatred. Shaking just as much as his hands, to Emily’s clear worry and confusion. He guided her to the side, and took one step closer to Daud. One hand rose briefly, as though to touch, before catching itself and sinking back to his side in a fist. “Sit down. _Breathe_. We’ll work it through.”

Daud made a wordless noise, a half-snarl of agreement. He fumbled behind him with one hand, catching the wall, using it to guide him. Emily stared at him. Confused, as vaguely horrified as her father. She stood there and watched him as he grabbed a dressing table, pulled himself along it, and dropped down heavily into a seat beside it. He could feel her eyes on him the whole way. It made him want to crawl out of his skin.

The curse easing off again, letting him breathe the moment his backside touched the seat, presumably in reward for his _obedience_, did absolutely nothing to help matters either. Rage and bile rose in his throat. Daud shoved the web of his hand into his mouth, bit down heavily on the glove to keep it in. He hunched forward, head hanging down over his knees, and closed his eyes to block out the sight of them. His breath whistled in his ears. Ragged and fast.

“… Corvo?” Emily asked. Hesitantly. Her voice tiny. “Corvo, what’s happening?”

Attano didn’t answer for a second. Trying to find the words, maybe. Trying to figure out how in the Void to explain the absolute clusterfuck they found themselves in. Then there was a sound, a rustle of movement, and Daud opened his eyes just enough to see the man sink to one knee in front of her. He kept his head lowered, but he could see enough to watch Attano kneel before her.

“I’m sorry, Emily,” the man said quietly. Reaching up to catch her hands in his. “We were coming up here to explain. Daud … can’t leave yet. We … ran into something. Before I came to the lighthouse. Some very … bad magic. He can’t leave me. It will hurt him very badly if he tries.”

Daud couldn’t see her expression at that. Her reaction. He didn’t lift his head to try, either. He could imagine it. Could imagine her wondering why that _mattered_. Why they didn’t just drop him outside for the curse to get on with it, then. He’d murdered her mother in front of her. He could picture her blank face as she tried to work out why some black magic killing him was supposed to mean one damned thing to her after that. 

His teeth pressed down into his hand. Bones shifted, beneath the leather of his glove. A dull pain, compared to the sharpness still ebbing in his blood.

But what she _said_, eventually, after a long, shaking minute, was something different.

“It has to be you? There’s no … He has to stay with you?”

She’d half-swallowed the question. Out of resignation, it sounded like. Out of something very small and very tired. Daud’s jaw softened around his hand. He let it slip out, and drop down into his lap instead. He closed his eyes again.

Attano paused for a second too. Perhaps resisting the urge to do the same. His voice, when he spoke, was very, very quiet.

“It looks like it,” he said. “We’re going … We’re trying to find a way out. Neither of us want it. But it might take some time. Daud might need to be here for a while. I’m sorry. The only other option … The only other choice we have right now involves killing someone.”

Which was not necessarily a _bad_ one. It was looking more and more attractive to Daud by the minute. But by the sounds of things, these two were made of different stuff.

Emily made another noise. Another stifled, swallowed thing. Daud looked up, finally. The amount of pain he’d brought to this house, the least he could do was _face_ it. But her eyes were dry. She’d pulled her hands from Attano’s, knotted them into small fists at her sides. She was struggling. But her eyes were dry.

“Tell me,” Attano said. With soft, careful patience. “It’s all right. You can tell me, Emily.”

She bit her lip. Reached into a pocket, and pulled out … they looked like audiograph cards. Two of them. She held them very, very carefully. She showed them to Attano, for a moment, and then pulled them in against her chest. Attano’s face did something very strange.

“… I listened to them,” she whispered. “Like you said. While you were out there. I listened.”

Attano swallowed. There was a gaping wound in his eyes. A vast, hollow thing. For one second, every bit of fear and grief Daud had ever seen in his face was right back on the surface. And then he smothered it, shoved it back down, and reached up to cup his hands gently around his daughter’s.

“And?” he asked. Very, very gently. 

She hunched her shoulders, briefly. She huddled into herself. Curled around the cards. And then her chin firmed, and she made herself raise her head again. She lowered her arms from her chest, and lifted her chin to look at him. Her lips still trembled. But she held herself strong.

“She said to stay good-hearted,” she said, her voice shaking but strong. “I don’t … I don’t know if it’s right or not. I don’t know if she meant him. But that’s what she wanted. And I don’t … think you should kill anyone. Not—Not if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t … make you do that.”

Distantly, idly, Daud missed Attano’s mask. Awful as it was. He missed the way it hid every gut-shot, ripped-open expression on the man’s _face_.

He stayed frozen for a second. Attano. And then he reached out and gathered her to his chest without a word. He wrapped himself around her, held her in shaking arms, while she buried her face in his chest and clung to him with all her might.

“I would never hurt you,” he whispered, into her hair. “Tell me to find a different way, and I will. I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”

She made a noise. Almost a laugh, a half-frustrated sound. “It’s all right,” she said. “So long as he doesn’t do anything to hurt _you_.”

And Daud realised, belatedly, or … acknowledged, more so, _let_ himself realise, that yes, they were talking about _him_. About sparing him. About … About whether or not the woman he’d _murdered_ would forgive them for sparing him.

Which … was not at all a question he could begin to answer. But he could … do one thing.

“I won’t,” he rasped. Wondering at the thickness and raggedness of his own voice. They flinched, both of them, startled by the interruption, and Daud flinched about as much in return. Struggled to ignore the way the girl skittered sideways a bit from his voice, the way Attano hunched instinctively to guard her from him. They stared at him, and he raised his head to look back at them. Gestured vaguely at Attano. “Hurt him,” he explained. Looking at Emily. “I won’t. I can’t, and I won’t.”

She stared back at him. Straightening, a bit, from her flinch. Just baffled, for a second, afraid, and then … she frowned. Looked down at Attano, for a second, and then back at him.

“You can’t?” she asked, slowly. “You can’t hurt him? The … magic? It won’t let you?”

Daud flinched. More than he’d meant to. More than he wanted to. Feeling the idle, threatening hum in his veins. But it might reassure her, at least. To know she was right. To know that her father was safe from him either way.

Except she didn’t _seem_ reassured. When he looked at her. She seemed … queasy, instead. Her expression was wary, on the verge of being horrified. She looked back at her father.

“It only hurts him?” she asked, something strange and thin in her voice. “He can’t leave, and it only hurts him?”

Attano’s whole face twisted. Carved in on itself, cold revulsion rising to the fore. He pressed his lips together. As if against bile.

“We’re going to fix it,” he said. Tight and pressed. “Daud’s people. And ours. We’re going to … find a way to fix it. _Without_ dying.”

She still looked strange, though. “I thought,” she said haltingly, “I thought it was both of you. Because you were scared. At the lighthouse. I thought it hurt you both. I—” She hunched faintly. Brought her hands, cards and all, to her stomach. “I don’t think this is better. Is that bad? I don’t like this any better.”

Daud … had no idea if it was bad or not. It was _strange_, though. Less than sensible. He would have thought.

Attano didn’t seem to agree. He took her hand. Uncurled it carefully from its fist. He looked … proud.

“No,” he said quietly. “It isn’t bad. It’s what she meant, Emily. It isn’t bad.”

She took a deep breath. Slow and shaky. And then she nodded carefully.

“I, ah,” she started. Turning to look at her father. “I asked Dr. Sokolov if he could have a look at you. When … In case. When you were done. Should … Should I ask him to have a look at Daud too?”

Daud straightened rapidly. It was … it was gently meant. Shockingly so. Offering aid because he might be hurt. But the thought of _Sokolov_ anywhere near him—

Attano looked equally enthused. Or, well. He didn’t look _horrified_, exactly. But he did look stunned, and thrown for a loop.

“Soko—” he started, bewildered. “… Why? Emily?”

Why—? Daud scraped a palm down his face. As if it wasn’t _entirely obvious_ why she might ask a doctor to look him over. Why anyone with half a brain who wanted him alive would ask a doctor to look him over. They’d had this conversation already. Outside in the fucking gazebo. Had Attano not actually _looked_ at himself any time recently?

Granted, he’d had other things on his mind. But still.

His daughter’s face twisted as well. Something stubborn and mulish coming across it. And … hurt. A little bit. Something hurt.

“I thought he might hurt you,” she said. Bluntly. “I didn’t think you’d die, because you’re good at not dying, but I thought he might _hurt_ you. And … And you were poisoned. The Admiral poisoned you. You’re supposed to … People are supposed to see doctors after that. As well as—”

She cut off. Turtled up again. Attano’s bewilderment shifted, shame coming up to replace it. And worry. And something else. Something much, much darker.

“As well as …?” he prompted. Probably not as gently as he’d intended. He hadn’t killed the Admiral at the lighthouse. Daud, crouched on the balcony above them, listening to the man’s self-aggrandising bluster, had marvelled mildly at his restraint. Attano looked like he was somewhat regretting that restraint right now.

“He …” she started slowly. Eyeing her father cautiously. “He said they … They were doing it on purpose. The Loyalists. Making you … go places. Fast. Not … Not letting you rest, and … and not, when you were hurt, not … They were afraid of you. After … After the first one. And then more, when you kept doing it. When they gave you nothing and you kept … They were scared. So they … didn’t help you. And they … made it worse. Sometimes. On purpose.”

… Ah, Daud thought. With slow, idle anger. Right. Yes. He supposed that did make a degree of sense. In a twisted, cowardly sort of way. 

They’d probably expected the Lord-Protector-as-was, at first. When they’d first come up with the hare-brained idea to break him out. Daud was guilty of a bit of that himself. Even knowing what went on in places like Coldridge. He’d still somewhat expected the man-who’d-been, the controlled, masterful, shockingly fast man who’d faced them that first time at the gazebo. The poisoned wreck who’d washed up on his shores had … shocked him badly. They’d probably been worse. Their whole plan hinged on him being able to do what they were too blunt and cowardly to manage.

And then he’d arrived. Gaunt and scarred and half-dead. Having slipped past all of Coldridge’s defences anyway, even as broken as he was. It had probably shocked them. But they threw him at Holger Square anyway, possibly even just to _see_, and he’d …

Mastered it. Laid Campbell low. Just like that. Half-dead, and managing anyway.

And then the Pendletons. And then Sokolov. And then Lady Boyle. And then _Dunwall Tower_. All within a few nights of each other. He and his men had been half amazed, half appalled by that. That was _not_ how you went about jobs like that. There was no time to judge risks, no time to get the lay of the ground, no time to plan entrances or exits or _anything_. It wasn’t a series of assassinations, it was a half-assed bloodless not-murder spree from a rank, desperate amateur.

Not that they’d admittedly been doing much better at the same time. But still. Daud had his Whalers. He wasn’t _one man_.

But it had _worked_. And _kept working_. And there’d been a reason Daud had known all along that Attano would come for him, and there’d been a reason he’d known all along that Attano would _win_. From escaping Coldridge to toppling a government had taken the man all of two weeks. And he’d been half-starved and running on fumes and void-magic the whole way.

And it did … make sense, in a grim, sordid sort of way, that after the first time or two they’d stop going out of their way to help him overmuch. For one thing, he clearly didn’t need much to function just fine. Perfectly adequately. It was practically guilt-free, just letting him carry on. For the other …

Well. If you were planning to kill a man further down the line, especially a man as lethal and skilled as Attano, it did make sense to try and keep him as weak as possible against the day. Strong enough to still do the job, obviously. But as weak as possible.

Like dumping him in a refinery tank for a while. While poisoned. To see if he managed to make it out.

It was a wonder, it really, _really_ was, that Attano had any mercy left at all.

Though he seemed to be struggling with it a bit at the minute.

“… There were reasons,” he said finally. Distantly. “To move that fast. They … made sense. Barriers would only get worse over time. People would move. There wasn’t much time.”

Emily bit her lip. Daud got the rather painful impression that she was trying to be _gentle_ with her father.

“Maybe,” she said. Grimly. Stubbornly. “But they still could have gotten you a doctor first. And no, Piero doesn’t count. He made you stuff. He didn’t … try to help you feel better.”

Which was a childishly simple way to look at it. But also … not really _wrong_.

“You’ll let him look at you, won’t you?” she asked. That edge of pleading back in her voice. Manipulation, possibly. Or just genuine pain. “Dr. Sokolov. You’ll let him help, right? He can look at Daud too. He can make sure you’re both all right.”

And Daud wasn’t even related to her, and he’d already resigned himself to getting poked at by a sadistic Tyvian bear. Attano stood even less chance. He closed his eyes. And nodded tiredly.

“All right,” he said. “All right. We will … Daud and I will go to see Sokolov. And … talk to his men. At some point. _You_ will … go to sleep. You’ll get Callista, have her set up a bed in here, and go to sleep. All right? I will … get fixed up. And you will go to sleep.”

Bargaining at its finest. Clearly. But the Empress saw a deal in her favour, and took it with both hands.

“Okay,” she said, nodding rapidly. “I can do that. I can … I can sleep now. I’ll get Callista.”

And probably Curnow. She’d need a guard, after all. But maybe Attano wasn’t planning to mention that part to her. Or maybe they both thought it went without saying.

She had one more grenade to throw into the conversation, though. The Empress. Before she left. She had one more parting shot to throw Daud’s way.

“Should I give it back to him?” she asked. Pausing at the door to look at Attano. Shuffling when he blinked at her, and holding up the audiograph cards once more. “Daud. It’s his, isn’t it? The other one. Should I give it back to him?” 

Daud … froze. Completely. Trying to grapple with that one. Attano, still casually kneeling on the floor, grimaced faintly. And rubbed his neck.

“… If you want to?” he tried. “I … believe I stole it fair and square. But if you want to.”

Stole it. Fair and square. Daud … was trying not to think of the only audiograph recording he’d left in range of Attano. Back in Rudshore. Back before … Before the battle. Before his mother’s curse had hit. Before he’d … lost track of several things. But there’d only been one. Only one that he could think of. Had Attano … Had Attano given her _that_?

But apparently he had. He’d taken Daud’s mutterings about Hiram Burrows and how many people he’d killed for him, and how no one should have to kill an Empress, and given it to said Empress’ _daughter_. Along with … with a recording from her mother. Saying … much gentler things. A reminder of how much Daud had taken from her.

_Why_? Surely there were ways to get her to kill him without exposing her to _that_?

Except that she … hadn’t. Killed him. Or had him killed. Or thrown him out to let the curse sort out the issue for them. She’d … offered him a doctor. Or forced a doctor on him. Based on what? On an assassin’s vague regret, and her half-dead father’s example? He hadn’t even told them about Delilah. They had _nothing_, no basis to view him as anything but a threat. 

She looked at him now. Hesitantly. A little bit warily. Like her father. But she came back from the door. Moved closer to him. And held out the card.

“Do you want it?” she asked. Standing on the balls of her feet, ready to dart back at a moment’s notice. Her fingertips tight around the audiograph. “I … needed to hear it. But it’s yours.”

Daud could feel Attano watching him. He could feel a … pressure. On his shoulders. On the back of his neck. But it wasn’t the curse. Not this time.

“… No,” he said finally. Reaching up, very slowly, to push the card gently back at her. “It was … stolen fair and square. It’s yours. If you want it.”

He didn’t know why she would. How she possibly could. But he wouldn’t take anything from her.

She looked at him. For a long, long time. And then she said, abruptly and in one big rush, the words spilling out of her: “We wouldn’t hurt you, you know. Not on purpose. Not like … Not the way the thing did. The … The magic. Back there. I didn’t want that. I don’t … want to hurt people. Not like that. I don’t know what it did. But I didn’t like it. And I wouldn’t … make it happen on purpose.”

She said it desperately. Daud wasn’t sure if it was meant to be apology or reassurance, or possibly both, some tangled mix of a thing, but he … he believed her. Like he’d believed her father. Probably for much the same reason.

We learn our creeds from our parents, after all. And we do our best to live up to them just the same.

“… I know,” he rasped. Nodding his head carefully for her. Distantly amazed by her small, wary smile. “I believe you. I believe that.”

And the worst of it was, he really did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tempers are frayed, scars are brought to light, Sokolov has the bedside manner of a sociopathic bear, and everything is generally horrible

It took Daud a few minutes to get back to his feet. After her. After Emily. It wasn’t shock, exactly. Wasn’t as sharp as that. But it was probably something like it.

Attano, on the other hand, mostly just looked like he was having difficulty getting his body to cooperate. 

“… Are you _sure_ you don’t need an elixir?” Daud asked again. Only partly to needle the man. Mostly in earnest. Attano looked up from arguing silently with his knees just long enough to glare at him.

“I’m _fine_,” he growled. Entirely convincingly. But at least the Empress now knew about Daud’s presence and her idiot father’s condition, so if he proved unable to part company with the floor at this point, Daud likely wouldn’t be blamed and/or executed for it.

Well. Probably.

He groaned silently to himself, and scraped both palms down his face. Pressed them there, until red spots started appearing behind his eyelids. Then he shook his head, and heaved himself laboriously to his feet. He wasn’t sure how much, if any, actual physical damage was being done with these little expressions of his curse’s displeasure, but they were certainly making him feel every minute of his age, and a few extra years besides.

Being caught alone and mostly helpless in potential enemy territory wasn’t helping either.

The voices from the anteroom built to a bit of a crescendo beyond the door. The Empress was arguing with someone, apparently. With several people. She was also apparently _winning_, by virtue of volume and stubbornness if nothing else. The woman was having most success arguing back, but not by much. Curnow had apparently just decided to wait her out, and present his arguments to the Lord Protector instead.

Smart man, Daud would have said. If the Lord Protector was likely to be in any condition to make decisions any time soon.

Attano hissed under his breath. Closed his eyes, gathered whatever shreds of strength and stubbornness he had left. Then he opened them, expression fixed and grim, and _heaved_ himself from kneeling to standing in one lurching, rapid motion. He staggered a bit. Almost lost himself. Then he straightened his spine with grim determination, and managed to look mostly solid and normal by the time his daughter came back in the door with the … governess? … tugged along behind her like a towboat.

His daughter still looked at him dubiously, not fooled in the slightest, but she appeared to at least appreciate the attempt. She let it pass without comment, anyway.

“Captain Curnow wants a word with you, Corvo,” she informed them lightly. “Callista’s going to wait until you both leave before we start setting up the bed. We’ll need help getting it in, and I figured you wouldn’t want guards or servants seeing … well. Him.”

She gestured vaguely at Daud. Who inclined his head, caught between vague affront and reluctant amusement. To be fair, she wasn’t wrong. _Imperious_, but not wrong. And he supposed she _was_ the Empress. If anyone had the right to be a bit peremptory, it was her.

Attano sighed tiredly. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he conceded, dropping his hand to look down at her. “No, we probably don’t. All right. We’ll go get things sorted. Good … Good night, Emily.” A pause, while he held out one arm and she instantly let go of the governess’ hand to slip in under it. He hugged her tight, and bent down to murmur: “Try to sleep. It’ll be all right. I promise.”

She hugged him back in lieu of an answer. Hard and tight and wordless.

When she pulled back, she gave Daud one last fierce, determined glare as a warning as well. In case the point hadn’t been made well enough previously. He grimaced faintly, and inclined his head again. There wasn’t much he could do at this point to help or hinder her father either way. But he’d do his best, he supposed.

It was good enough, apparently. The Empress turned away, turned back to this Callista, and Attano gestured quietly for Daud to follow him. Leaving the two of them to it.

Curnow accosted them the moment they cleared the interior door. Daud was not remotely surprised. Curnow immediately proceeded to draw Attano away from him and mutter ferociously at him. Daud was _still_ not remotely surprised. Sokolov, leering idly, sidled over to him. Daud really wished he _could_ have been surprised.

“So,” the philosopher said, grinning darkly. “You’ve come back from the wilds at last, eh, old friend? Going to try your hand at civilised society this time?”

Daud levelled a flat glare at him. “How are we defining ‘civilised society’, exactly?” he growled.

Civilised as in, cleansing the undesirables by means of imported diseases? Civilised as in, drafting innocent people as experimental material for the purpose of curing said diseases? Or just the old standards, murder and betrayal as a means of getting ahead? Do enlighten him. He was most interested in the standards of civilised society these days.

But Sokolov only grinned wider. “Oh, the usual,” he said. “Good food, good brandy. Intelligent company. Important friends. That sort of thing.”

And he looked pointedly between Daud and Attano’s stiff, unbending back. Of course he did. _Important friends_. Like that was why Daud was here. Like Daud gave two fucking shits about that at the absolute best of times. Such as when he _had a fucking choice_. 

On any other night, Daud would not have risen to provocation. But tonight was _not a good night_. He’d already turned on the old bastard, fists knotting, before he’d thought.

“Don’t even start, old man,” he growled. “Between the two of us, I’d wager we’ve had the same amount of luck with _patrons_ over the years. And probably a similar amount of corpses left behind us as well. Leave Attano out of it. Trust me, if he had his choice, if _either_ of us had a choice, I’d be nowhere in the remote vicinity of his Empress.”

Which was … more than was safe to reveal. Especially to a man like _Sokolov_. He realised it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Probably sooner. But Sokolov …

Sokolov didn’t bristle. He _relaxed_. Just slightly, just a little bit, but Daud caught it. Some of the evil gleam faded from the philosopher’s eyes. Some of the challenge faded from his posture. He grinned again, more easily now, and leaned back more comfortably against the wall beside Daud.

“Not attempting to sleep your way to legitimacy, then?” he commented mildly. “Pity. He’s a more attractive option than Burrows.” He snorted. “Not that that’s difficult.”

… No. Not that difficult at all. But Daud had to stop for a second. Had to pause, and swallow nausea, and wait for the ringing in his ears to subside.

It was only an idle taunt. He realised that. Just a prodding joke from an old lecher, not intended seriously at all. But the thought … The thought was past bearing. Even if he’d been inclined in that (or any) direction. Burrows at all. In any fashion. _Ever_. And Attano …

Under the current circumstances, though Sokolov didn’t know it, the thought was more an idle _threat_ than an idle taunt. Leavened only by the fact that Sokolov _didn’t_ know, and that Attano … was likely not that sort of person. Almost certainly.

_Hopefully_.

He realised that Sokolov was squinting at him. When he didn’t answer. The old bastard was hiding a very sharp, very intent look under the bristle of his eyebrows. A sharp look, and a sharp mind. That was _dangerous_. But whatever thoughts were percolating in that raddled old brain, the philosopher didn’t voice them.

Instead, he said, very mildly: “Seems a decent sort, though. Our Lord Protector, I mean. For a man inclined to kidnap people to get them onside, of course. Not that I’d hold it against him. Political necessity and all that. People like us, practical people, we rise above that sort of thing.”

Daud honestly couldn’t tell if that was a hint, a warning, a _question_, an attempt at sympathy, or genuinely just Sokolov’s best attempt at idle conversation. But he shrugged anyway.

“I’m fairly sure it was the Loyalists who wanted him to kidnap you,” he said, just as mildly. “I don’t think it’s the sort of thing he does outside of necessity.”

And Sokolov’s general callousness had probably made it easy enough to justify, necessity aside. Even for sensibilities as delicate as Attano’s. The miserable old bear had never made any particular pretence at compassion for much of anyone. Daud highly doubted he’d started recently.

Sokolov apparently agreed. With the judgement of Attano, at least, though he’d probably admit to the unspoken one of himself as well. He’d never been shy. Or perturbed. 

He cackled lightly. “True,” he said. “True, true. A man like that needs a reason to kidnap someone. The pressures of necessity. Decidedly.” He paused briefly. _Pointedly_. Watching Daud with evil, intelligent eyes. “I do wonder. What sort of circumstances, would you say, might require a man like that to kidnap an assassin?”

Daud glared at him. “I wouldn’t know,” he gritted out. Convincingly. He _knew_. But there honestly weren’t many better answers. There were damned few reasons for a man like Attano to be anywhere in his vicinity.

If not to kill him, anyway.

“… Daud,” said the man himself. Interrupting, _cautiously_. Looking somewhat worriedly between him and Sokolov. He’d detached himself from Curnow. With Curnow’s protests, it looked like. But he’d set the Guard Captain as much to rights as he could, and come over to them again.

Sokolov, showing no sign he’d been interrupted mid-interrogation, greeted him with a rough snort and a cheerful clap on the shoulder. Which, incidentally, almost knocked Attano back onto his knees. 

“Finished, are you?” he asked blithely. “Suppose you’ll be wanting your check-up, then.”

Daud had honestly never wanted anything less in his _life_, up to and including being chained to Attano for potentially the rest of eternity, but he knew there was little chance of getting out of it now. Not if he wanted to avoid having to explain it to the Empress in the morning. 

And, with luck, the piss-poor shape Attano was in would take the bulk of the bastard’s attention.

Attano grimaced about in time with Daud. But he didn’t complain either. 

“We should,” he conceded. _Grimly_. Then glanced at Daud, very obviously, and back at Sokolov. “There’s a study a few doors down. Curnow’s already sent someone to put your supplies in it. If you want to get set up, Daud and I will join you in a minute.”

Daud wondered idly if the man was any better at either statecraft or subterfuge when he _wasn’t_ dead on his feet. But Sokolov decided to be nice and not question him too much.

“Hah!” he barked. “Of course! But don’t be long. I’ve wanted a good look at you since the Hound Pits. For a man less than a month out of Coldridge, you’re doing surprisingly well. I’ve been wanting to get a look at why.”

… For given values of ‘nice’, anyway. Right. Definitely no pretences at compassion, then.

Attano … did not answer that as it so richly deserved. He paled, just slightly, but didn’t react beyond that. Just inclined his head, and waited tautly until Sokolov _left_. 

And then he closed his eyes, just briefly, and breathed for a few moments before looking at Daud.

“… Curnow’s going to pull back and focus the guard presence around Emily,” he said, a little tonelessly. “The study’s not far from the back stairwell. Clear access. Once he’s got the new postings in place, it should be in a blind spot. If you want to start calling your people now, by the time we’re done with Sokolov they should be close and have a clean run at us.”

That … did not make sense for a very long second. 

Actually, it didn’t make sense at all. 

“… What?” Daud asked. A little slowly. A little blankly. Attano blinked at him in disgruntled bemusement.

“I said, Curnow’s going to rearrange the guards. Weight them around Emily, and leave a blind spot for us to meet with your men. I know you’d probably prefer to go back outside, but by the time we get done with Sokolov I’m honestly … I’m not sure how able I’ll be to go anywhere.” He sighed heavily, scrubbing at his face. “I probably can if I have to. If you really don’t want them having to come in here. But they should have a clear run if you’re willing to go with this. So long as they stay away from Emily, at least.”

There was a warning under that. A _real_ one, thin and hard and flat as a blade. _That_ part made sense. The rest of it … not quite so much.

Attano _had_ said that he wanted to talk to Daud’s Whalers. That he’d be willing to allow contact. There was a difference between that, though, and the man _actively rearranging guard postings_ to allow it. To allow anywhere between one and thirty assassins unrestricted access to not only a portion of Dunwall Tower, but to _him_.

Granted this was a man who’d taken two weeks to topple a government by himself. Granted the Tower’s security was basically a sieve anyway. Granted he had Daud over a barrel and at least one piece of powerful leverage on his side. But _still_.

Which was not to mention …

“Did you,” Daud started slowly. “Did you _tell_ Curnow that you needed a blind spot to meet assassins in?”

Because if so, he was mildly surprised Curnow hadn’t clonked Attano over the head and brought him to Sokolov as a clear case of insanity. Judging by the looks the man was still sending Attano’s way, he was likely _considering_ it. Not unjustifiably. 

But Attano just glared at him. As he’d likely glared at Curnow. “_No_,” he said. “I told him that I needed to meet with someone that I had been given reason to believe knew of a supernatural threat to the Crown. I told him that I would prefer to have the weight of guards around Emily while I did so. I told him that I would prefer to have no wagging tongues around, because the _last_ two High Overseers were traitors to the Crown and I’m not particularly interested in inviting the Abbey any further into our business until I’m sure that the _next_ High Overseer will _not_ be. And that I would prefer to get it sorted as soon as possible to avoid any more nasty surprises like the last two coup d’états!” He paused for breath, and to reign back his temper. “Under the circumstances, and all things considered, he conceded the necessity.”

… Under the circumstances, Daud rather thought, Curnow had backed down from a very tense, lethal man clearly at the far limits of his patience. He generally wasn’t the sort to do so, by all reports, but Attano’s points weren’t actually bad ones. Framed … a little shy of the truth, but not as far as all that. More than even Attano knew. Curnow could well have conceded that too.

And all that aside, Daud couldn’t refuse an opportunity of this magnitude. As risky as it was, and as tense and angry as the offer had turned. Mostly due to Daud.

He raised his left hand mutely, holding it up to Attano for a second before bringing it to his chest, and clenched it very obviously into a fist as he sent out a pulse through the Arcane Bond. Calling Thomas, particularly, and whoever else his second thought should accompany him into unknown danger, to find a boss who’d left them with barely a word. 

And then, by an odd whim, motivated by a dark thread of amusement, he bowed low over the marked fist. A vassal to his liege.

Attano _glared_ at him. Clearly very, very far from amused. But equally clearly too damned tired to do anything about it. He shook his head roughly, turned sharply on his heel to nod one more time to Curnow, and then stalked off after Sokolov without so much as a glance behind him to see if Daud was following.

Daud closed his eyes again. Reigning his own temper, his own _despair_, back in. Then he, too, mostly for amusement’s sake, nodded to Curnow as well. And turned to follow his _master_.

He stayed fast and secret. Sensible to the guards still holding to their as-yet unchanged posts, even if Attano was not. He very carefully did not outstrip Attano himself, though. Again, for black amusement’s sake. He kept to the man’s shadow, and made sure not to cross the threshold first.

If Sokolov noticed the sudden tension in the air as Attano strode in and Daud landed from a traversal to step in and close the door behind them, the philosopher didn’t mention it.

Of course, Sokolov wasn’t really the _kind_ to notice offended social niceties. 

Or care about them.

“Ah, there you are!” he said, straightening up from a row of instruments on a repurposed roll-top desk. Attano stopped sharply at the sight. _Very_ sharply. Sokolov didn’t seem to notice. He moved towards them, a looming, bear-like figure, and started chivvying Attano towards the room’s dark leather couch. “Well, hurry up, will you? Haven’t got all night. Shirt off!”

It was … abrupt. Very abrupt. With no attempt at social nicety whatsoever. And for a very long second, Attano did not respond. He didn’t _move_, standing rooted with a fixed, vibrating stillness. A man balanced on a hair.

Daud found himself straightening slowly. His own anger laid aside, the hairs on the back of his neck stirring. Even Sokolov narrowed his eyes.

But then Attano relaxed. Forcibly. Deliberately. And moved forward to drop himself heavily onto the couch.

“I hope this won’t take long,” he rasped, shaking himself roughly out of his coat. With steady hands. Very carefully steady hands. He slipped his folding blade out as it went, and rested it casually on the leather beside him, before starting work on his shirt. “We don’t want to keep you, Anton.”

Sokolov looked down at him for a moment. Sensible enough to be at least briefly wary. But then he shrugged, clearly dismissing it, and moved forward to start tugging at Attano’s clothes himself.

That was either more courage or more rampant stupidity than even Daud would have credited him.

Attano froze for a second. Went stiff and rigid under the philosopher’s hands. But he didn’t reach for his blade, and he didn’t gut the man where he stood, so Daud let his stance ease somewhat, and loosened his left hand from its ready fist.

“Don’t worry about that,” Sokolov prattled on, muscling cloth over Attano’s head. “Like I said, I’ve been wanting a look at you for a while. I did a study once, you know. Long-term effects of prisons like Coldridge. Mostly on corpses, you understand. Executed bodies. And lifetime prisoners. It’s harder to get access to the ones they let out. Not that there are many. You might remember, actually. The Empress, Void rest her, wanted an idea of the conditions in there.”

… Shut _up_, Daud thought. Staring stunned at the man’s back. He’d known Sokolov was blunt as the face of a _hammer_, but surely at some point self-preservation had to rear its head. _Surely_. Surely it had to.

But Attano didn’t look like he was going to kill anyone. When the shirt finally cleared his head. And his torso. His jaw was locked and tight, but there was a tremble back in his hands. And something distant, something _dead_, in his eyes.

“I remember,” he said. Soft and tight. “She wanted it improved. Dig—Dignity even for the worst.”

Dignity even for the worst. Even for assassins. Daud sat down suddenly. There was an armchair, beside the desk. He sat down. 

Attano was gaunt, without the shield of his clothes. Without the coat and the mask and the blade. It wasn’t just leanness, he was _gaunt_. The size of his hands and the thickness of his bones only made it more obvious. He sat there, fish-white and gently trembling, while Sokolov stood back to have a proper look at him. To have a look at the ghastly frieze of scarred and badly healed burns that littered his upper arms and staring ribs. The quivering of his stomach under the scrutiny.

“Tch,” Sokolov grunted, reaching down to measure his palm along one of the worst. Gruff and casual over the ruin. “Left this one too long. Went bad, hmm?”

Daud gave distant, genuine thought to _murdering_ him. Also possibly himself.

Attano laughed faintly. Not even hysterically. A dark, dry little chuckle. He kept himself carefully still. He also seemed to be ignoring the fact that Daud was in the room. Or trying to.

“Got infected,” he agreed, with deliberate lightness. “Burrows wasn’t pleased. Almost deprived him of the opportunity for a public execution. He put the torturer on half rations of elixir out of pique. Since they had to give me full ones. Almost made it worth it.”

Sokolov barked a laugh. “I’ll bet,” he said. Rough and callous and appreciative. 

He gripped Attano around the shoulders. Moved him forward to get a look at his back. The man went obligingly limp in his hands, quivering only faintly. Tamping down his reaction with deliberate will. Sokolov hummed thoughtfully. 

“Not much I can do about most of these. I have an ointment that will soften the worst of the scars some. A few things that will help with the joints too, though that’ll take a few months of work. Most of it’s already as good as it’s going to get, though. Better than expected, in some cases. Given the condition it’s been left in.”

Yes. Because that was clearly _Attano’s_ fault. But the man himself didn’t comment. He let Sokolov prop him semi-gently back, and turn to the next item of interest.

“Now,” the physician muttered. Prodding methodically at the soft flesh of Attano’s stomach. His gut. Attano didn’t flinch. Daud couldn’t tell if that was because there was nothing to flinch _at_, or because Attano wouldn’t give Sokolov the satisfaction even if there was. “On to the other mess. Doesn’t seem to be any tenderness or fluid here. No discoloration either. Poison made a mess, but not that much of a one. Botched the thing start to finish, didn’t they? Bah. Rank amateurs.” 

Attano tipped his head back against the rear of the couch. “_Sam_ botched it,” he corrected. More softly now. More gently. He smiled slightly. “On purpose. They forced him to do the honours. Probably shouldn’t have.”

Sokolov paused at that. Rough fingers gentling a bit on Attano’s stomach. He looked up at the man properly, for a thoughtful second, and then huffed to himself. 

“Did he now. Well then. Good for him. Aristocrats and their games of loyalty. Hnh! I could have told you Havelock was of the same ilk as Burrows. Minute he threatened me with the rats. Men of that sort are all the same.”

_Like Sokolov was any better_. As though anyone in this room, with the probable exception of Attano, was any better at all.

But Attano grimaced faintly. Closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “In hindsight … I probably should have seen that.”

He’d been so wild-eyed at the Hound Pits. Standing over the bundled bodies. Daud remembered it. So vibrating with desperation and betrayal. He’d had a sword to Daud’s neck almost before he’d finished materialising out of the traversal. A wild snarl painted across his face. He’d survived wreck and ruin, only to find himself betrayed all over again.

Daud hadn’t known the boatman had been the one to poison him. He couldn’t have, from the way Attano greeted him. With warmth and genuine relief. 

Sokolov hummed absently. Already distracted. He prodded Attano’s left side. Near the kidney.

“Still should have done more damage,” he murmured. “The condition you were already in, even a botched job should have left more than this. Your system should have already been weakened by the infection. The lack of nutrients. Most everyone coming out of those prisons has trouble with that. Health’s broken. Too much damage over time. Leaves the system compromised. Unless … Unless the system has help.”

… Left side. Attano’s _left_ side. Near the kidney. And the limp hand in his lap.

Ice flooded Daud’s veins. Stripped away guilt and weakness briefly. He sat forward. Slowly. Tension and readiness coiling through him. Sokolov loomed thoughtfully over Attano. A man allied with Burrows. With _Campbell_. Daud found a hand drifting idly towards his knife. But Attano had to have known. In advance. Attano had to have thought of that.

“… Yes,” Attano whispered. Softly. Idly. Letting Sokolov lift his left hand gently into the air. “Unless a body has … help.”

Sokolov brushed a finger lightly across the Mark. Daud wasn’t sure if the gentility was out of some twisted reverence, or if the philosopher actually did have some idea of how precarious and potentially lethal a position he suddenly found himself in. Caught between Attano and Daud. Attano was still relaxed. Still _deliberately_ relaxed. He looked up at Sokolov with dark, hollow eyes.

“… I’ve been looking for this for a long time, you know,” Sokolov murmured softly. Holding Attano’s hand for a long second, before deliberately loosening his fingers. “I’ve been looking for _him_ for the longest time. A chance to study the greatest mysteries.”

“I know,” Attano said. Still light. Still careful. “He told me.”

Sokolov made a noise at that. A rough, angry sound. His body tensed like a bow, and Daud was on his feet and less than a foot behind him without a thought. Knife in hand. Sokolov flinched. He at least had that much sense. Attano didn’t. Though he looked vaguely surprised at Daud.

“He _told_ you?” the philosopher asked raggedly. Still focused on his grievance, and not on his life. “He told you about my search? He _knows_?”

Of course he did, Daud wanted to tell him. Of course he knew, you pathetic old man. It was the _Outsider_. He knew everything. The thing he didn’t do was _care_.

But this was still Attano’s show. And Attano was gentler.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Anton,” he said softly. “I don’t know why he chose me. Why he chooses anyone. Or why he doesn’t. But I was … I suspect you have to be in a hole before he takes an interest. I suspect … you have to be somewhere you can’t get out of on your own. A sword can only get someone so far. But a man like you doesn’t need help to change the world. You can manage that on your own.” A short pause. A small smile. “Possibly with a colleague’s help.”

Which was bullshit. Start to finish. Daud _knew_ it was bullshit. But Attano said it with quiet, steady conviction.

And Sokolov … stood there looking at him. For a long, long second. And then he laughed raggedly, and let Attano’s hand fall from his grasp.

“A colleague’s help,” he repeated, backing up a step and shaking his head. He bumped into Daud in the process. Bumped into an assassin standing right behind him, glaring at him all the while. He brushed that off with sneering ease, and looked down at Attano. Scrubbing a hand through the mane of his hair. “I don’t think Joplin quite matches up to a god, Corvo. But I take your point. A man must make his way with his own hands, hmm? And the fruit of his own mind.”

Attano shrugged awkwardly. Looking suddenly very small and damaged where he sat, with both of them looming over them. Determinedly unperturbed.

“I don’t know, Anton,” he said tiredly. “But I do know magic has its price. And sometimes … sometimes a very heavy one.”

He looked at Daud as he said it. Dark eyes in a gaunt face. A look that somehow wasn’t accusing, despite … despite _everything_. Despite Empresses that had wanted to offer dignity to even the worst of men, despite the swords that had killed them, despite the scars that littered Attano’s skin that _should_ have littered Daud’s. Despite all of that, it wasn’t accusation in the man’s eyes. 

It was sympathy. For the price of magic, and the curse under Daud’s skin, and the prison neither of them knew yet how to escape.

Because Attano had his own reasons to be unfond of torture.

Sokolov made a small noise. A low, thoughtful hum. Daud snapped his eyes away from Attano’s, snapped his head around to glare at him. The philosopher raised a bristled eyebrow scornfully. Squinting at Daud with that sharp, evil intelligence that far too many people missed.

“… Prices of magic, hmm?” he rumbled slowly. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the reason you’ve kidnapped an assassin, would it, Corvo?”

Daud stiffened, a half-snarl curling his lip. Attano sat forward carefully. Pushing himself up laboriously on his elbows, leaning forward to rest his arms tiredly on his knees. He looked up at Sokolov, his mark dark and prominent on his hand.

“It might,” he said, holding Sokolov’s gaze frankly. “Which, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, might put us in a precarious position. With the Abbey, for example. I’ve made a good few enemies there recently.”

… Just a few. Two High Overseers or so. Daud wasn’t sure it wasn’t the _Abbey_ that had made an enemy of Attano. Hume and his men had nearly destroyed Daud. Burrows had held Campbell over his head. But give Attano two days of freedom, and he toppled Holger Square.

It wouldn’t _stay_ toppled, though. The Abbey never stayed toppled for long. Attano had a fair point. It wouldn’t be hard to sell two heretics to them. Especially two heretics standing next to a throne.

But Sokolov scoffed harshly. Completely contemptuous.

“Do I look like I’ve ever given a rat’s ass for the Abbey?” he barked. Shaking his head. “Campbell was a waste of space, and Martin a worm. I doubt the next one will be better. They cower in fear, that lot. Flinch away from knowledge. From _discovery_. You don’t have to worry about that from me. I wouldn’t sell them a bent spoon. I worked for _Burrows_, not for them. And that only because there wasn’t a better option at the time.”

Attano smiled thinly. “I’d hoped so,” he said. “It’s nice to have it confirmed. Thank you, Anton.”

“Bah!” Sokolov waved a hand, discarding a non-issue. “But what’s going on, hmm? Why in the void would _you_, of all people, hook up with the _Knife of Dunwall_? You know, I assume, that he’s likely the one who killed her?”

And he threw it out so casually. As if Daud wasn’t standing right next to him. As if someone in the room wouldn’t promptly die if it turned out Attano _hadn’t_ known. Possibly Daud, but quite likely also Sokolov. Daud honestly couldn’t tell if he was so cavalier about it because he was just that arrogant, or because he just didn’t _care_.

Either way he stepped back and passed a hand in front of his eyes. He didn’t want to see Attano’s expression. At any of that.

“He’s aware,” he said, dropping his hand to glare at Sokolov exhaustedly. “We’ve already had that conversation. The Empress as well. As you can see, I’m not dead. I’m still not quite sure _why_, on either count, but here we are.”

Sokolov raised both eyebrows. At him, first, and then at Attano. But Daud noted that he didn’t actually look _surprised_. Amused, if anything. Oddly satisfied. 

“Well,” he said, leering idly at them both. “You are both practical men.”

Daud … considered stabbing him. Lightly. Non-fatally. Just a little.

Attano pinched his nose again instead. “That aside,” he said. _Heavily_. Frowning up at Sokolov. “Coming back to the main issue, Anton. The subject of magic and its prices. I wondered if I might … ask your help.”

… Attano would like to _what_?

But he was being serious. Daud could see that the moment he looked at him. Attano was leaning forward, his dark eyes heavy and intent. On Sokolov. Who frowned thoughtfully back at him.

“Depends,” the philosopher said. Cautiously. Self-preservation kicking in at last. And greed. “Help with what? And what do I get in return?” 

Attano rubbed his left thumb along the side of his hand. “You’ve been to Pandyssia,” he said, after a careful moment. “Some of the isles around it too. You’ve studied some of the magic there. Rituals, I think. Things it’s maybe not safe to write about, to have published in Gristol. I wondered if maybe you might have some notes I could borrow. On the subject. In return for … perhaps the opportunity to make new notes? On a _live_ subject?”

He held up his left hand, his meaning plain. A live subject. In exchange for … rituals from the Pandyssian isles. Something turned over in Daud’s stomach. He’d seen the ‘specimen’ cages on Kaldwin Bridge. He’d seen the look on Attano’s face with Sokolov’s hands upon him.

Maybe Attano trusted Sokolov to do better than that when it came to him, but Daud sure as fuck did _not_. He wouldn’t trust the miserable old bastard further than the Empress could throw him.

It wouldn’t even do any good. This was witch magic. A sad old man like Sokolov, a man even the Outsider hadn’t considered worth a damn, wouldn’t know anything about that. You needed … You needed someone like _Delilah_ to make sense of that.

He was going to have to tell Attano about that. But let’s avert the current crisis first.

“I doubt he has anything useful, Attano,” he said. Rapidly and harshly, as he stepped deftly between the two. Glaring at Sokolov the whole way. “Certainly not worth _that_.”

Sokolov’s eyebrows beetled upward again. That sharp, intent look appearing again, as he studied the promised violence on Daud’s face, and … whatever it was that Attano was doing behind him. Whatever expression was on _his_ face. The old philosopher stared at them. And again, yet again, he didn’t _bristle_ at Daud’s violence. He _relaxed_. He smiled, faint and evil, and crossed his arms, resting his weight on the arm of Attano’s couch.

“I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to demonstrate that thing,” he said mildly. Ignoring Daud’s growl with casual aplomb, before looking at Attano with … an oddly gentle expression. For him, anyway. “If you’re willing. A little _non-invasive_ study, hmm? And you’re welcome to anything I have, Corvo. It might take me a while to dig up. Some of it’s been buried for years. But it’s yours. In … service of the late Empress, shall we say?”

Daud stepped smoothly forward. Easy and casual. And pressed his blade to the bastard’s throat. Through the mat of his bloody beard.

Sokolov tilted his chin up. His arms still crossed across his chest. And _let_ him.

“… Daud,” Attano said. Standing up, with a nearly audible creak, and coming forward to stand just out of reach of Daud’s knife arm. He didn’t touch. He _carefully_ didn’t touch. Daud took his eyes off Sokolov’s to glare at him slightly. Attano grimaced wearily back. “It’s an easy trade, Daud. I don’t mind a demonstration or two. And there might be something valuable in it.”

_Daud_ minded. Quite a lot, for reasons he was doing his level best not to think about. 

But he could wait. If Attano really was willing. It wouldn’t be hard to kill Sokolov later, if he proved about as trustworthy as Daud thought him to be.

He stepped back, steering around Attano, and grimaced in disgust as he put his knife away. “Are we done for the night?” he asked harshly. “We’ve done our diligence for your Empress. I’m sure _Dr. Sokolov_ would like to get some rest tonight.”

He’d done all he apparently could for Attano, and no way in the void was he getting anywhere near Daud. Whatever willingness Daud might have had to allow it, for Emily’s sake, had long since burned away. Business was concluded. He wanted the bastard out of his sight. 

Which Sokolov was apparently fine with. He grinned darkly at Daud, and inclined his head to Attano.

“Wouldn’t mind at all,” he agreed. “I’ll bring by the ointment tomorrow, Lord Protector. Work on a treatment plan for the joints. We can work out the rest later, hmm?”

Attano scraped a palm across his face again, and waved him off tiredly. “Yes. Thank you, Anton.”

Sokolov leered at them. _Again_. And walked out the door before Daud could do more than growl at him. Leaving all his instruments behind. 

Leaving Attano standing beside Daud. Still half-naked, all his uncovered scars still on display.

Daud couldn’t look at him, suddenly. Not at all. He took another few steps back. Moved back over to the armchair. He scrubbed both hands across his face, and dropped heavily into it.

“He won’t have anything of value, you realise,” he rasped eventually. Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, while Attano stood lean and cautious across from him. “Witches don’t tell their secrets to any old pompous windbag who wanders their way. Even if they did, I doubt he’s ever made so much as a light flicker. You can’t understand what you can’t feel.”

“… Maybe,” Attano acknowledged. Tiredly. “But even if he just has a form. A bit of hearsay. An idea of the _rules_. I _can_ feel this thing, and I still don’t understand it. We’re running blind here, and every accidental trespass seems to wind up with you on the floor.”

“Which is a problem _why_?” Daud finally snarled. The words all but ripped out of him, where they’d been building with … with every bit of leeway Attano offered. With every new bit of evidence of the mercy that had _led them here_. He sat back up and gestured savagely down the length of the man. “For fuck’s sake, Attano! You’ve six months’ worth of free shots if you want them! I’d owe you every one!”

He’d owe him every one. For everything Burrows had allowed that Jessamine Kaldwin would have stopped, every cruelty of Coldridge enacted on _Attano_ in lieu of _Daud_. Every wound Burrows had justified as the interrogation of the killer of an Empress.

Attano had fought him once and dropped him twice so far. Technically one and a half, since the second time had only been the curse responding to Daud’s own thoughts. It wasn’t anywhere close to enough. Not by any reckoning. Not when Attano had _spared_ him … far too many times.

But Attano didn’t agree. By the set of his jaw, Daud could tell he didn’t agree. By the dull anger and stark hatred in his face.

“If you mean Coldridge,” he said tightly. “I owed _Burrows_. And Campbell. Both of which I’ve already arguably paid in kind. And I have _no interest_, I assure you, in becoming _either_ of them in an attempt to balance some imaginary scale any farther! I will not betray her that way!”

Which … was not an interpretation Daud had anticipated. Which was an argument that stopped Daud’s in its tracks. And then …

“… Well,” said a voice. Familiar and damning. “_That’s_ good to hear, at least.”

Daud looked up, with a dull, slow sense of inevitability, while Attano spun and half-staggered across from him, to find four of his Whalers standing in the doorway. Thomas in the lead.

And _none_ of them looking particularly pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These seem to be getting longer every time. I _actually_ meant this one to be about the Whalers. Then Sokolov bulled in.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rules of the curse are extrapolated a little, negotiations with assassins can go violent very quickly, divided loyalties are very much not good for anyone, and everything is fierce and vibrating and terrible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to find much information on most of the individual Whalers beyond their names, so I'm basically just attaching genders and personalities to said names at random. If I've gotten anything wrong, let me know!

There was half a second, after Thomas introduced himself to the proceedings, where absolutely nobody moved. Attano stood frozen, half-naked and _unarmed_, one hand flexing slightly as he realised that he’d left his sword over on the couch. Staring at Daud’s men dead-on anyway. Daud’s men, in turn, stared right back at him, about equally perturbed. Aside from Thomas, at least, who seemed to be mostly focused on Daud himself. The other three –Leonid, Aedan and Fisher, by the feel, with two more somewhere in the halls behind them—arranged themselves uneasily behind him and attempted to stare Attano down. With notable lack of success.

And Daud remembered abruptly, watching them, with all the clarity of a fist to the face, the many, _many_ reasons why this was an _incredibly_ bad idea. The thousand ways that this could go horribly, viscerally wrong.

He should have left them in Rudshore. Permanently. He should have come here, and sorted this out between him and Attano, and not gone anywhere near them. Not called them, no matter how much help they could be and how few options he would have without them. Or at the very least, he should have fought to call them outside of Attano’s presence. It was one thing to presume on the man’s mercy for _his_ sake, to place a degree of trust in the man’s word and honour towards Daud and Daud alone. It was another thing entirely to gamble with _them_.

And he didn’t … know why he’d forgotten that. Why he’d been so willing to summon them at Attano’s word, to Attano’s conditions.

Something must have changed in his expression. Something must have soured. Because Thomas shifted suddenly, Thomas set his shoulders back and straightened where he stood, and the shift rippled through the others in turn. Attano responded. His shoulders tensed too. His chin lifted. The tension crystallised. On the brink of explosion.

Daud opened his mouth. Leaned forward, half on his feet. Desperate to stop it. And then Thomas moved.

“Sir,” he said. Stepping forward, with only half an eye to Attano, and bowing slightly to Daud. “I’m sorry we’re late, sir. A lot of us wanted to come. I … had to narrow down the squad. I hope I haven’t done wrong.”

He spoke politely. Swiftly and surely, to ease the tension, stepping forward to keep the situation balanced at least a few moments longer. Calmly, with nothing in his tone to indicate …

To indicate that he’d essentially just asked Daud if he should have brought an army.

And to indicate to _Attano_ that he … hadn’t. Yet.

Well. That was one way to keep a situation from deteriorating. He’d said it so much more mildly than Billie would have done. So much less blatant in his … not threat, exactly, but promise of insurance. Maybe that made it worse. But Daud couldn’t help snorting softly. 

And oddly, Attano couldn’t either. Bringing both Daud’s and Thomas’ heads around to stare at him.

“… No,” Daud said, eyeing the man warily before looking back at his second. “Small squad’s fine, Thomas. We’re not trying to make a hole here.”

Mostly because it was too late for that, and because hopefully they wouldn’t need to. And because, to an extent, they already had. Months ago. Everything now was just reaping rewards.

And they’d noticed. Of course they had. And they were _wary_. Of course they were. He’d trained them at least a little right.

“Noticed that,” Leonid said, from her position by the door. “Noticed we kind of don’t _have_ to. This place is like a fucking graveyard. Was the door supposed to be open all the way up?”

Daud glanced at Attano. Who looked right back at him, and scrubbed tiredly at his jaw.

“Yes,” he said, letting himself shrink a little as he looked between them. Letting the threat ebb a little further around him. “Yes, it was. The guard captain left a hole on my orders. So long as you don’t go near the Empress, you should all be fine. _This_ time.”

Daud couldn’t tell if the flatness there was a reference to the _last_ time, or a warning for the _next_ one. It was rather mild, either way. And not at all reassuring. 

His people agreed. Daud watched them all glance at each other warily. And _spread out_. Not bunch up. They drifted a little further apart from each other. Leonid to the door. Fisher and Aedan out along the room to pincer Attano should they need to. And Thomas in front of Daud. 

Moving to control the room. To control access. And to protect Daud.

He couldn’t speak, suddenly. Something wedged itself solidly in his throat. 

“Ri-ight,” Leonid continued. Slowly. Balanced on the balls of her feet while she looked at Attano. Since she’d apparently nominated herself spokeswoman. “And … why, exactly, have we got an open invitation right now?”

Attano didn’t answer for a minute. He just stood there, watching them, clearly considering his words. Standing with absent confidence under the stare of everyone in the room. There was a part of Daud that had to distantly admire the man. How easily he commanded attention. Standing there, gaunt and half-naked, surrounded by assassins, the gouged reminders of mistreatment littering his skin, and neither flinching nor faltering in the slightest. Holding them all but tethered while he deliberated. He’d done the same in Rudshore. Even if Daud had commanded it, he knew it had half been Attano that held his people at bay. The aura of lethality of the man.

Whatever else you could say about Attano, he did not shy from impossible odds.

He didn’t look at Leonid when he finally answered. He looked at Daud instead.

“This one’s yours, I think,” he said softly. With an edge of tired amusement. “I handled Emily. This one’s on you.” Then, while Daud only blinked at him, he glanced around at the other four. “Now. Does anyone mind if I put back on my shirt?”

They glanced at each other again. And at Daud, who was admittedly less than helpful. That … was wrongfooting for other reasons entirely. But Attano just waited patiently while they blinked at each other. 

“… No?” Leonid tried, eventually. Baffled entirely by the question. 

Aedan twitched a bit. He was by the couch. He’d noticed that Attano’s _shirt_ wasn’t the only thing lying on it. But maybe Daud wasn’t the only one who felt that Attano would be somehow _less_ alarming when armed and fully clothed. They were assassins. They knew what to do with a blade pointed their way. A battered, half-naked man holding easy court among them was infinitely more bemusing. 

Whatever the case, Aedan didn’t say anything. Attano inclined his head gracefully, and moved over to the couch to set himself to rights. Aedan shied slightly out of his way. Attano faltered, just briefly, and moved half a step to the side to give the whaler more room.

Nobody knew what to do with this. And all of them looked at Daud.

Who … wasn’t sure what to say, suddenly. Wasn’t sure how to explain this. It was … It was one thing to Attano. Even to Emily. One thing to put his life in their hands, to admit to them that they owned it. Everything about them was pain and debt from a standing start. The curse … was a horrifying addition, to be sure, but to a large extent it was really just more of the same. They expected nothing but pain and horror from him to start with.

His Whalers …

He didn’t want to tell them. To show them his … his weakness. To let them know that he’d trapped himself here, caged himself without a way out, and then _invited them in after him_. He didn’t want to tell them that. He didn’t want them to _be here_.

His breath came a little short at the realisation. Lodged itself in his throat.

“… Sir?” Thomas asked. Suddenly. Slowly. Standing beside Daud and looking down at him. Nothing in his tone but hesitance and concern. “Whatever’s happened, sir, whatever’s gone wrong … You know we’ll serve you to the best of our ability. I swear it, sir.”

As if the problem here might be them. As if the issue might be that _Daud_ didn’t trust _them_.

Billie had damaged them. She’d damaged them all so badly. But that really wasn’t the issue here.

“… You might not want to,” he rasped finally. _Heavily_. Laying his expression deliberately open as he looked up at his second. “This might be more than you want to deal with, Thomas. It might be better for the Whalers to stay out of it. And I won’t blame you either way.”

Thomas stared at him for a long minute. And then his tone hardened completely.

“What’s happened?” he asked coldly. “What’s he done to you?”

Over by the couch, Attano straightened slightly. His back still to Daud, his hands pausing in fixing his coat cuffs. Or the weapons under them. He didn’t turn, though. His head only tilted curiously.

Daud grimaced, and heaved himself to his feet. Moved over, moved away from all of them. Into the far corner of the study. He turned in place and grimaced angrily.

“It’s not him,” he growled. “Or not … We ran into an issue. In Rudshore. Our … confrontation. It … triggered something. Magically. A … curse.”

He’d gritted the words out. Like they cost a minor fortune apiece. It wasn’t helpful. He knew that. But he couldn’t force them out any easier. 

Thomas tilted his head. Glancing slowly, consideringly, between Daud and Attano.

“… The Outsider?” he asked finally. Dubiously. Daud snorted, and shook his head. Thomas nodded. “A witch, then? Delilah?”

Daud … paused. He could sense Attano listening. Feel the pricked, careful attention of the man. His head had twitched slightly at the name. Curiosity. And they did … need to mention that soon. More … properly. But for now, no. He shook his head at Thomas.

“A witch, yes. Not Delilah. It’s … older than that.”

He couldn’t see Thomas’ face, but he could _feel_ the frown. Could almost hear the whirring of his second’s brain as it tried to list known threats and slot them into place. Slide them into this previously unknown crack in their armour. The others frowned too. Daud could tell by the way they’d all angled in. Towards him. Even Aedan, leaving his side gaping open to Attano. None of them liked being blindsided. None of them liked the idea of an unseen threat.

But there’d been no helping this one. Not for any of them. It’d been set in motion long before they were even born.

Daud sighed heavily. All reticence running out of him. There wasn’t much point, was there. There wasn’t much point to anything now.

“It was my mother,” he said, wandering back over and sitting down heavily beside Thomas. “The one cursed, I mean. I didn’t know. The black-eyed bastard had to explain it to me. There wasn’t any way to stop it. Not without him deigning to fucking warn us, anyway.”

Which the Outsider, it went without saying, was almost never inclined to do.

They glanced at each other. The four of them. As wary as Daud had ever seen them.

“… Okay,” Leonid said slowly. Very slowly. Taking back over the reins because it looked like no one else was going to. “So … there’s a curse. An old curse. And it’s on you and … the Lord Protector?”

Daud looked wearily at Attano. Who turned slightly, angled himself back into the room, and looked back. Equally weary. Maybe a bit _more_ wary. Daud nodded tiredly.

“It triggered on our choices. On him not killing me. On me … leaving him the option.”

On him refusing to fight for his life, he didn’t say. On him _sending them away_. On his weakness. On him doing everything his mother had told him never to do, and everything Billie had seen coming from the moment he’d killed the Empress.

Maybe she’d been right. In the end. Maybe she’d had the right of it all along.

“… What does it do?” asked Thomas. So softly. A quiet whisper, with a lurking tone of dread. He looked down at Daud. “The curse. It … binds you to him, doesn’t it? What … what else does it do?”

So. He’d figured that out. Though Daud supposed it followed easily enough. Especially for someone as bright as Thomas. A curse triggered by two actions. It made all the sense in the world that it would be bound between them both. And it was a _witch_ curse. A thing cooked up by a mind like Delilah’s. Of course a binding would be the very least of what it did.

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t think of a way to frame it. Not without bile eating him away from the inside.

“… It hurts him,” Attano finally filled in for him. Turning to face them while Daud sat frozen in his chair. They startled, slightly. His people. They flinched and spun to face him. His eyes stayed fixed on Daud, though. His tone stayed weirdly gentle. “We don’t know the rules yet. We haven’t figured out _why_. But he’s bound to me, and … certain actions, on either of our parts, seem to …”

He cut off, face twisting slightly. His hands curled gently into fists. Daud blinked at him. Realising, yet again, that it really did bother the man. That it was … a betrayal of his principles. That Attano was still, despite everything, enough a man of his creed to _despise_ that.

He wondered idly if that had thrown the Outsider for as much of a loop as it constantly did him.

“… Hurts him _how_?” Thomas asked. _Harshly_. Standing straight, when Daud looked at him. Vibrating faintly as he stepped in front of Daud. Glaring across the floor at Attano. “What have you _done_ to him?”

There was such vitriol in his tone. Such ripe, buzzing hatred. Such _danger_. Attano’s eyes snapped to Thomas’ instantly. No more the peacemaker now, no. Attano straightened carefully. His left hand flexed. 

And Daud knew, with terrifying certainty, that if Thomas went for Attano now, he would die. 

Attano was merciful, yes. He was a man of principle, _yes_. But the last time any of them had attacked him here, in his own home, he had all but gutted Rulf and left Tynan limping on a splintered leg. Without powers. The last time they had faced him here, it had ripped a hole through everything. This time would _not_ be different.

Or it would, maybe, in that it would be _worse_. Because Daud couldn’t step in, this time. And he was not willing to watch his Whalers die.

“It’s _not him_,” he growled hoarsely. Grabbing Thomas by the arm. Bruising him, probably. Clenching his hand punishingly tight. He couldn’t help it. He’d hold Thomas here by main force if he had to, if it would keep him alive. “You heard him when you walked in. It’s not his doing. This isn’t happening by any of our _choice_.”

Which was the point. Which was the fucking _point_, start to finish. The whole aim of the thing had been to take away his choice. Or his mother’s, rather. It had been to bind her and bend her and break her. It had just happened to snare himself and Attano neatly as well.

And that … might be the mistake. In the end. That might be the witch’s undoing. 

Because Attano took things lying down even less than Daud.

Thomas stared down at Daud. The whaler mask hid his expression, muffled the harshness of his breathing. But Daud could feel the tension in the arm beneath his hand. He could feel the … violence of its shaking. He could feel every second of Thomas’ struggle not to rip his arm away and … go for someone. Attano. Carve his way out of this situation. Carve _Daud’s_ way out of this situation. It was … such a strange thing, from his normally level-headed second. It was such a terrible, incredible thing.

It was nothing Daud had ever earned.

“… It triggers when I touch him,” Attano offered carefully. After a moment. Standing surrounded at the centre of the room once again. Balanced precariously between armed and enemy forces. Holding them at bay by force of will once more. He waited until Thomas looked up from Daud. Until Thomas looked at _him_. And then continued carefully. “As much as we can figure out so far. It hurts him if I touch him. And there’s … something else. It triggered again earlier. I don’t know what happened for that one. It felt like it tried to strangle him.”

“… I tried to leave,” Daud offered. Hoarsely. Loosening his hand around Thomas’ arm. “The Empress wanted me to leave. I … thought about trying.”

Attano’s head snapped towards him. A frown carved his brows. 

“I sent you away earlier,” he said. “Or … I asked you to wait. You made it out of the Tower.”

Daud … winced. He could see where the man was going with that. But.

“I wasn’t planning to leave, then,” he rumbled softly. “I wasn’t … Thinking about defying it. Not directly. But I did with your Empress. I thought … I thought specifically about pushing the curse to breaking. So I could leave. It didn’t … like that.”

Attano went very still. “It … responds to your thoughts,” he said. Flatly. “It responds … if you think of defying it.”

Daud closed his eyes. Let go of Thomas’ arm, and sank back in his seat. “And you,” he said. “It responds if I think about defying you. Or … disrespecting you? I think. It seems to have … a very particular idea of how I should respond to you.”

No mockery when he bowed. No _hesitance_ when he bowed. No fighting to keep from his knees when clearly he ought to be on them. No … disobedience. Not when given an order.

Yes. The curse had very clear ideas of how he should respond to his master.

Attano’s face was a picture, when he opened his eyes again. A _lethally violent_ picture. He was as savage and quivering as he’d been at the Hound Pits. His left hand flexed silently at his side.

“Defiance,” he repeated quietly. “You were … defying something. Outside. It wanted you to do something.”

Daud barked a laugh. The opposite of a mirthful sound. He felt his lips curl. A black, savage expression himself. The bile clawed in his throat. 

“Yes,” he said. Black and bitter. “It wanted me to kneel.”

Thomas made a noise. A sharp, cut-off sound. He hunched slightly, as if struck, and Daud refocused on the room enough to realise that … that all his Whalers had flinched there. Or … growled. In Leonid’s case. Curled her hand around a knife. But it was Attano who drew his eyes back. It was Attano that pulled his entire attention like a lodestone.

“… You fought it,” the man said. His voice thin and distant. Contemplative. “I could … feel it. Like a threat. I could feel a need to … remind you of your place. It wasn’t mine. It was … hard to tell that at first. There’s been a lot of threats lately. But I could feel that it wasn’t mine. I could fight it. But then … when I touched you. When you dropped. I felt … _glee_. A bright rush of satisfaction. Like taking Campbell down. It … overrode everything. It took effort to fight it. To remember … where I was. To manage to rip my hand away.”

… Well, Daud thought. That was … terrifying.

“… I thought you could feel it on your end,” he admitted, his voice a little distant and floaty itself. “So. It’s in your head too, then. It wants you to do … certain things.”

“Apparently,” said Attano. He was holding himself so rigid Daud was vaguely surprised his spine didn’t creak. “It doesn’t … use the same tactics for me. It wants different things. It wants me to _think_—"

His voice cut out, swallowed under the raw weight of revulsion, the bile in his throat, and Daud understood that _exactly_. He understood it perfectly well. His own stomach was trying to crawl its way out his mouth as well.

A thing in his thoughts. Not just _responding_ to his thoughts, but _warping_ them. Bending him. Making him obedient. Making Attano _want_ him that way.

Rewards for obedience. On both ends.

He could feel the noose around his neck. The thing in his blood, rich and fat and _gleeful_. Waiting there. Waiting to draw tight, to unmake him, and remake him in its image. He had to close his eyes and clench his fists to keep from trying to rip his skin off. From trying to tear down to it, to _find_ it, to rip it from him by main force.

But it wouldn’t work. He could tell already. None of it would work.

“She … She knew, I think,” Attano whispered. Daud opened his eyes to look at him. The man had his own eyes closed, his face carved out of steel, as grim and gaunt as his mask had ever been. “That she wouldn’t get to see it herself. The curse. This is … She knew someone else would be the one to hold it. She wanted … to make sure they got it _right_. Regardless of … their will in the matter.”

Which was … horrifying. On the one hand. But on another … It was the wrong response. Daud knew that. But for the smallest second, he felt a rush of _pride_.

Because it meant that she’d known. The witch. It meant that she’d known all along that Daud’s mother was never going to bow to her directly. It meant that she’d known before she started that the curse was never going to be anything but a petty act of vengeance. Daud’s mother had slipped her grasp. Defied her to the end. Daud’s mother had _escaped_.

And all the witch would ever get now was the suffering of a foolish old assassin, and the enmity of the single most stubborn man in the Isles.

A piss-poor payment, all things considered. Hardly worth the effort or the price.

“… It needs to come out,” Attano rasped. His voice was trembling. His face was _grey_. Like he’d been out in the gazebo. His hands were clenched so tight that his fingernails had to be cutting his palms. The Mark burned on the left one. Blue-gold. As if Attano was trying to use it to fight. “There has to be a way to get it _out_.”

And oddly the sight of him, his revulsion for the thing, calmed Daud. Soothed the ragged thing in Daud’s own chest, the shaking rage and terror. The man’s hatred was … reassuring. 

“We’ll find one,” he managed himself. After a second. Trying to reassure in his turn. Attano opened his eyes. Looked at him. Daud glared fiercely and stubbornly back. “If there’s a way, we’ll find it. And if the bitch is still _alive_ …”

He was trying not to kill. Wasn’t really able for it, not anymore. Blood choked his hands already. But this …

The bitch had gone for Daud’s _mother_. All bets were off at that.

“And … if there’s not?” A voice asked. A soft, shaking voice. Daud blinked vacantly. And turned his head to his second. To Thomas. Standing beside him.

“What?” he asked. Roughly, if only out of confusion. Thomas turned his head to look at him. 

“What if there’s not,” his second asked again. Something very strange in his voice. “What if there’s no way to break the curse? What then?”

Daud … stared at him. Silently. Something very startled, very _cold_, dropping in his stomach. Spreading its way through his chest. Thomas’ voice had been distant and trembling. Nothing like Billie’s. Not even at the end. The ice slicked through him anyway.

“… Then you cut me loose,” he answered anyway. Regardless. The bare, flat necessities. “You cut me loose to sort it out. Take the Whalers. Go … wherever you need to go.” A pause, and then: “You don’t have to wait for then. If you think it would be better not to. My course is set. You can break from it now, if you need to.”

Thomas stared at him. For the longest second. And then he _exploded_ upwards. Exploded away from Daud, out into the centre of the room, violently enough that even Attano skittered back from him. Enough that everyone, from Attano to Fisher, planted their back to a wall away from him. Thomas ignored that. Thomas paced frenetically in their centre.

“You expect us to _leave_ you to this?!” he snarled. Spinning back towards Daud. “To s-something _worse_ than—For fuck’s sake! This thing wants to make you his _slave_. Are we supposed to let this stand?”

He threw out a hand. Waved it at … at the air. At Attano. At Dunwall Tower, maybe. At everything. The whole stinking mess. Daud felt his chest creak. He felt his heart sink.

The word rang in his ears. _Slave_. He’d been trying not to think it.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” he said hollowly. “We either find a way out or we don’t. I’m not sure what you want me to say, Thomas. If there’s no way out, there’s nothing you can do.”

There was silence for a second. And then …

“That’s not … _entirely_ true,” Leonid said. Very, very softly. Holding her knife idly in her hand. “I mean, we are assassins. There’s always … at least one other way. Right?”

And they were back. They were all the way back. To Thomas on the verge of lunging for Attano. To Attano … standing on the edge of the room. In a circle of assassins. His left hand lightly curled. His right hand in his coat. Waiting. Patiently. For them to move.

Daud could see them thinking about it. _All_ of them. He could see each and every one of them weighing their odds. Even _Thomas_. Weighing how many of them it would take to bring the man down. Whether the six in the Tower would be enough. There might be no way out at the end of it. They were in a blindspot, but a ruckus of that level would certainly bring _some_ guards running. Assuming Attano left enough of them to worry about guards. But they were _still_ considering it. Each and every one.

“_Don’t_,” he started. On his feet. Moving forward. But it was too late. Aedan and Leonid were already moving.

She traversed right in front of him. Attano. Skipped straight over Thomas and appeared right ahead of him. Within inches of his face. Aedan, physically closest to the man, simply lunged across the intervening space to come at the man’s side. Two knives, raised and moving.

Attano’s fist clenched. The world went grey at the edges.

It didn’t stop Daud. Did nothing to him whatsoever. But it froze everyone else in their tracks. Including the two. Within inches of _Attano_, now. Within inches of his blade.

The curse was already reaching for him. Daud could feel it. Could feel a tidal wave about to break over his head. He was moving. His left hand was rising. Attano met his eyes over their heads. Daud knew he was making a decision now that … might not be survivable. Might not be _endurable_. Or … worse. Might be his to endure for a very, very long time. 

It didn’t matter, though. He couldn’t make any other choice.

If he pulled them, they’d still be wide open. Left completely bare to Attano’s strike. So he didn’t pull them. He pulled _Attano_. Gripped him with the Outsider’s gift, and yanked him tight.

The grey shattered. Attano’s eyes widened, just before he made contact.

And Daud’s entire world went white.

The pain was unbearable. The pain was _unbelievable_. The thing inside him roared senselessly at him. Seized hold of his head, ripped into his chest, burned into every one of his limbs. Grabbed and mangled and _mulched_. Until everything felt wet and soft and broken within him. He lost all track of where he was, what way was up, what way was _out_. He lost everything, except the sensation of it. The blinding, unbelievable savagery of it.

And it didn’t … stop. He didn’t … lose consciousness. He didn’t fade, he didn’t die. It _didn’t let go_. It kept him there, held him viciously to itself, and _tore him apart_.

There was nothing except that. Nothing for an eternity. And then …

“—Stop! Stop, stop, _stop_! It’s enough! _Stop_, void damn you! It’s _enough_.”

There were hands on him. Frantic hands, trying to pull him somewhere. Trying to grip his head, trying to roll him over. Hands on his throat. His face. Hands around his waist. Trying to …

Help him breathe. Air. Trying to help him _breathe_.

The curse didn’t let go. It _still_ didn’t let go. It gripped him with a thousand burning fingers, trying to press him vindictively through the ground. Trying to pry him open and lay his quivering guts at Attano’s feet. Attano …

The voice was his. Hoarse, ripped raw, _desperate_. Not close. Some way away. The voice was his. The hands weren’t.

“Make it _stop_!” Another voice. Half stunned, half _pleading_. Not bothering with rage. Thomas. “Attano! Make it _stop_!”

Attano snarled incoherently. “I _can’t_!” 

He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. It wasn’t his choice. His voice broke. Snapped thin. If Daud had any air left, he would have laughed. Because it wasn’t Attano. Of course it wasn’t.

It was the curse. And the curse could _take him to the knife_.

Unless they killed Attano. Unless they finished it that way. And Daud didn’t _want_ that. He really, honestly didn’t.

But he couldn’t have made a different choice. Not between them. He couldn’t have chosen differently.

“… His heart is torn,” a new voice murmured. Daud … almost couldn’t hear it, through the wall of agony in his head. But something about it, something _in_ it, caught his attention. Held his focus through the roaring in his veins. It was a female voice. Not one of Daud’s.

“What?” Attano whispered. Shocked and hoarse. The others … fell silent around him. Fell _back_. Daud could sense it. The hands still on him tugged him instinctively away. The voice was a threat. Or just a horror.

“His heart is torn,” it said again. “He cannot choose you over them. He cannot trade their lives for yours. It will not tolerate such disloyalty.”

She sounded … familiar. The voice. He’d swear he’d heard her before.

“… I know that,” Attano said thinly. Raggedly. “Of course I know it. How does it _help_?”

He sounded … oddly confident that it was supposed to. Which was more than Daud would have wagered on. He … had a thought that the voice should despise him. He couldn’t remember _why_, the curse was such a white wall through his thoughts, but he thought she did. He thought she _should_.

But she, like the rest of the world, seemed to go with Attano rather than him.

“… He made a choice. Their lives over yours. A choice it cannot tolerate. But he would not … need to be punished. If he did not have to choose.”

There was … silence. For a second. And then … the sound of somebody moving. Crawling, awkwardly. Something loomed over Daud. The hands already on him tightened protectively. But no one interrupted. No one intervened.

Attano touched him. He knew it the second the man made contact. A hand on his shoulder. Everything inside him _tensed_. The curse … froze. Locked him tight. Held him stretched and thin. But it didn’t … hurt him more. Oddly. It didn’t tear him apart once again. It was … waiting for judgement, he thought. It was waiting for Attano to make a decision.

“… I will not kill them,” Attano whispered. Flat and thin. “On my oath, on _her memory_, I swear to you I will not kill them. I will defend myself, as long as I have strength, but I will not kill them, until the day they go for Emily. I swear it. So please, _please_, I beg you. Stop _fighting_.”

And Daud … believed him. He’d gone all the way through Rudshore without a body. All the way through _Dunwall_. If he said he wouldn’t kill them …

The curse let go of him. All at once. With an air of almost disgruntlement. It let him go. Breath seared back into his lungs. Rigid, vibrating muscles released. Let go. He panted raggedly. And sagged back into …

Leonid’s arms. Around his waist. Under his head. Trying to hold him upright. Trying to force air into his lungs.

And Attano’s. Resting now on the back of his neck. While the man hunched over him, and dragged in ragged breaths of his own relief.

And … in his other hand. Limp on the floor in front of Daud’s face. A … A _horror_.

A Heart.

“… He is loyal,” it said. Pulsing grotesquely in Attano’s hand. Speaking with … with a _voice_ … “I had not thought him so. But he will spend his life for his loyalty.”

Daud stared at it. Unable to move. Wrung dry, raw with the echoes of pain, aching in every nerve. He stared wordlessly at the thing. Before lifting his eyes in mute horror to Attano.

Who looked back at him. Dark eyes in a gaunt face. And smiled blackly.

“Dignity for all men,” he murmured raggedly. “I told you. Like her daughter. Dignity for all men.”

Even … Even the worst.

“… _Fuck_,” Leonid whispered. Raw and stunned into his ear. Daud couldn’t move to look at her. Couldn’t twitch even a single muscle. He felt her tug him closer, though. Felt her hunch across him and drop her head into his shoulder. “Fuck, _fuck_. The fuck was that? I’m sorry, boss. I’m _so_ fucking sorry.”

They’d … stopped, apparently. Going for Attano. They must have done. As soon as he dropped. They’d dragged Attano away from him, and … stopped.

Daud wasn’t sure why. Unless he’d made just that terrible a sight. But he was … somewhat glad of it.

He was glad Attano wasn’t dead. Even if it was the easiest way out.

“… How long can you hold it?”

A voice. From behind Attano. Behind their little huddle on the floor. A strange, wobbling question. Pointed at Attano. Thomas. Again, Thomas.

Attano levered himself upright. At least onto his knees. And twisted to look at Daud’s second. Thomas swallowed thickly. But asked again.

“How long can you resist it? How long can you keep from doing what it wants? Keep from … Keep from hurting him?”

An honest question. A thin, desperate question. But also … an indication. For Attano. An idea that Thomas might … be willing not to bring an army yet. If Attano could give him a decent answer in turn.

Attano knelt there. One hand still on the back of Daud’s neck. His murdered Empress’ heart in the other. He held the room without a word. Drew every eye to him without a motion. He was a _damned impressive bastard_, fuck him anyway. Even and especially when he shouldn’t be. He looked at Thomas. And answered darkly.

“… I’d say at least six months,” he said. An odd, thin savagery on his face. Watching them as they flinched. “That’s as long as I’ve been tested on. For refusing to give someone what they want. I’m sure I can go at least that long again.”

Which was _pointed_. And hateful, to an extent. Burning with anger, pressed and savage as he turned between them. They’d attacked him. In his own home. _Again_. They forced him to show mercy to them, when they likely didn’t deserve it. _Again_. But it was also …

He meant. Daud could tell he meant it. With every grim, gaunt fibre of his being. Corvo Attano was not fond of torture. And he _did not bend_ to another’s will.

Which Thomas seemed to realise as well. Seemed to believe, finally. He flinched, a little. Bowed slightly in shame. But then he straightened his spine. Reached up, to pull the Whaler’s mask from his head. He looked at Daud, first. His expression thin and a little bit broken. Then he turned to Attano.

“We won’t leave him,” he said quietly. “Or I won’t, at least. Not … Not with this. If … If you’ll hold, so will I. And … try to find another way out. If … you’ll allow it. Lord Protector.”

“… What he said,” whispered Leonid. Rough and raw beside Daud. Aedan and Fisher murmured rapid agreement around them. All four of them. At least these four. Daud let his eyes fall closed again. Briefly. He wasn’t going to cry in front of anyone. For _fuck’s sake_.

Attano held Thomas’ gaze for a long second. That lodestone presence again. Then he … slumped slightly. He took his hand from Daud’s neck and pressed it against his own eyes. Held it shaking there. Trembling and grey.

“… That was the plan,” he said, with wry, black amusement. “That was the _plan_.”

Before everyone else fucked it up, he meant. Very, very clearly. But nobody was dead yet. Out of everyone who _could_ have been, nobody was dead yet.

And Daud was very much taking that one as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the point where I should mention that I have a massive loyalty kink a mile wide. And a massive _fealty_ kink. If, ah. If that wasn't already apparent. Heh.
> 
> Also, hi Jess!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we try negotiations again, without weapons this time, some tentative plans and truces are made, and basically everybody is tired and heartbroken and cranky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how many rooms Dunwall Tower actually has, but it has grown at least one guest room.

Daud was ashamed to admit it, but it took him … quite a while. Before he could do more than half lie there and breathe. Upright only because of Leonid’s bulk behind him. The thought of trying to move set a deep-seated dread inside his chest. The knowledge that it would … likely hurt. In more than a physical sense. It wasn’t pain he felt at the thought, it was _dread_.

That made it worse. So much worse. That the shortness in his chest was _fear_, rather than anything else. That it was just pure, trembling dread.

It didn’t help that it felt like most of them were staring at him. Thomas. Aedan and Fisher. That they kept looking at him, in shock and anger and fear. Maybe … possibly also concern. Which _did not help_. At all. On top of everything else, to have his people _pity_ him too …

Attano was the only one not looking at him. Well, possibly Leonid, but mostly Attano. Him and the grotesque, beating thing in his hand. Which Daud was … not thinking about. He was in _no state_ to think about it. To remember his blade in her chest, and then her voice offering a way out of pain. No. Not … Not right now.

Not that Attano was much of a better option. But at least he wasn’t looking at _Daud_.

After … what felt like hours but was probably only a minute or two, Attano shifted awkwardly. Put his hand down to brace himself, shifting his legs slowly and painfully out from under him. Sitting down, instead of kneeling. Dropping down onto the carpet and resting his arms on bent, raised knees. He tucked his Heart into his chest, briefly. Murmured to it, and then pressed it … somewhere. It drew the Whalers’ eyes, if nothing else. It gave them something _else_ to stare at in horror.

Then Attano raised his head, and glanced at Daud. Only briefly. Enough to catch Daud’s eye. Then he looked away again, and spoke mostly to his knees.

“Do we need to find a medic?” he asked. Very quietly. “That didn’t … look good.”

… _Good_. It didn’t look _good_. Well. That was … a lovely understatement. Daud managed a laugh. More a tiny huff of air than anything else, but at least he managed to make a noise. He … shook his head. Very, very carefully.

“No,” he whispered. As vehemently as he could manage. The thought of hands on him right now, of _more_ hands on him right now, was … 

No. Again. _No_.

He expected argument. Vaguely. He could see at least Thomas gearing up for it. The lack of a mask made his expression plain. Possibly his other Whalers felt similarly, behind the shields of rubber and glass. They didn’t … matter as much. As much as he hated to think it. They couldn’t _force_ him to it. Which Attano … possibly could. Right now. But Attano …

The man closed his eyes. A strange, pained look on his thin face. And nodded.

“All right,” he said. “All right.”

Then he sat up a little. Tugged one side of his coat forward, leaning awkwardly to pull the trailing edge out from under his backside, and rooted around inside it with the other hand. Daud blinked at him distantly. Drowned in too many other dreads to feel more than absent alarm. Mild curiosity. Attano fumbled for a few seconds, and then pulled out …

A vial of elixir. Red and shiny. He looked up at Daud. An odd, small smile flitting across his face. Then he placed it very gently on the carpet, and nudged it towards him.

“Been saving it,” he said softly, pulling his hand back. Wryly, as Daud recalled several earlier conversations, as Daud was clearly _meant_ to recall several earlier conversations. Daud managed a huff of disgruntled disbelief at the man’s sheer _audacity_. “Not sure how much it will do for … whatever this is. But it holds against a light poisoning. Infections. Swimming in sewage with open wounds. So … might help?”

Someone, Fisher, made a noise of offended disbelief. Just baffled amazement. And Daud found himself huffing another laugh.

“Fuck you, bodyguard,” he whispered. Managing to bully his hand into moving. Managing to curl his fingers slowly around glass. Leonid made an aborted movement behind him. Reaching to try and _help_ him. Daud tightened his grip deliberately, pulled the thing towards him himself. She let her hand fall back to her side.

“… I’ll pass, if you don’t mind,” Attano said. Watching them oddly. A strange, distant look in his eyes. “No offence. I’m not much in the mood for that sort of thing anymore.”

It took Daud a second to parse that. To remember what he’d said, and connect it to the response. Then he _did_ and … Well. Given that the man had just put his murdered lover’s speaking heart back into his own chest, Daud couldn’t really say he was surprised.

_Relieved_. For a variety of reasons. And guilt-ridden. But not surprised. 

He managed to get the vial open and up to his mouth without spilling it all over himself. Amazing, wasn’t it, what little things felt like triumphs suddenly. He sipped at it slowly. It tasted like rat shit and river water, like always. He did … feel a little better afterwards, though.

When he had it down to about a third, he paused again. Considered it. Then he tilted it in his hand, base pointing out, and offered it back to Attano.

Who looked at him. For a very, very long moment.

“It took you about four years to get back up in your Empress’ room,” Daud reminded him. A low, pointed rasp. “Unless you’re planning to sleep where you sit …”

Attano _laughed_. A hard, vaguely hysterical bark. “Don’t tempt me,” he said. Shaking his head. “On my life, Daud, don’t tempt me. Please.”

Daud growled softly, and waggled the vial in his direction. “Well take the fucking elixir, then,” he grunted. “We’ve already had this argument twice tonight. If your guards walk in here in the morning and find you unconscious on the floor, it’s going to end so well for all of us.”

Attano’s eyebrow arched. “As opposed to dead on the floor, you mean?” he asked. Rather pointedly, slanting a glance Leonid’s way. She cringed slightly. But he took the vial. By the bottom, keeping his hand well away from Daud’s. “Either way. It’s hardly the worst thing Curnow’s seen recently. Or the worst place either of us have slept. At least you wouldn’t have left me in a bin.”

Daud … had to take a second to parse that, too. “Who left Curnow in a bin?”

Attano grimaced faintly. Sheepishly. And downed the elixir. “In my defence,” he rasped, wiping his mouth, “there aren’t a lot of places to hide unconscious allies in Holger Square. Not if you want them to wake up again afterwards, at least, and outside of a cell. And the man is a lot heavier than he looks. And he would have been dead, otherwise. So.”

… Well then, Daud thought. Fair enough.

Nobody asked where was the worst place _Attano_ had slept. Which was sensible, he couldn’t help but think. Since they’d probably been responsible for most of them. Coldridge, for one. The bottom of a refinery tank. Though he hadn’t stayed _there_ very long.

Interesting that Curnow directly owed Attano his life, though. Maybe there was an actual reason why he gave Attano as much leeway as he did. Why he was as willing as he was to take risks on the man’s word. 

Enough to let a pack of assassins into the Tower. Enough to leave an assassin all but alone with the _Empress_. This _particular_ assassin, even.

They were taking such … ridiculous risks. All of them, but especially Attano. For fuck’s sake, Leonid and Aedan had just tried to _kill_ him. They’d gone for him with lethal intent, and Daud had just defied his curse to save _them_ instead of him, and the man was still … 

There had to be a limit. There had to be a breaking point. Right?

“… So,” Attano said. Dark and wry, on the heels of the thought. “Just to clarify. Can I take it that we’ll _not_ be killing me for the moment? Not tonight, at the least?”

Daud grimaced. All four of his Whalers flinched in unison. Leonid and Aedan most of all.

“No,” Daud agreed. Exhaustedly. “No killing. Not tonight, and … not for a while.”

“… Sorry,” Leonid muttered. Quietly, her head angled anywhere but at Attano. “We just …”

She trailed off, her jaw audibly working, and Attano shook his head slightly. “I know,” he said. With every apparent sincerity. “I’m not inclined to _allow_ it. I’ve no intention of dying now. Not with Emily so vulnerable. But I understand the attempt.”

“… Fucking _why_?” Leonid asked. A little plaintively. “I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s nice and fucking forgiving of you, but _what the fuck_?”

Not to put it too bluntly, or anything. Though Daud did agree. The sensible response to someone trying to murder you was _not_ to offer them medical treatment and swear an oath not to kill them back. In order to save one of them from torture, no less.

Maybe … Maybe if they’d meant something to you. If they’d been … someone you’d cared for before their betrayal. Someone you’d been proud of. But not … not strangers. Not _enemies_. You didn’t go almost fatally out of your way to be kind to _enemies_.

Or you didn’t if you were _sane_, anyway.

Attano closed his eyes. Tilted his head back. His right hand drifted to where … to where he’d placed the Heart. “Because,” he said, very softly. “Because if someone had cast a curse like this on Emily, through one of you, I would have slaughtered that person without hesitation or thought. Along with anyone who got in my way. Whether they’d asked for it or not. I would have done it gladly. To have something like this held over …” He cut off, his hands trembling badly. “It’s unbearable. I know. To leave them under someone’s control that long. I understand the attempt. I understand the _need_. I cannot … fault you for it.”

… Delilah had perhaps gotten off lightly, Daud suddenly thought. She’d perhaps been lucky that it had been _Daud_ the Outsider had pointed her way, rather than Attano. He’d taken Billie badly, but Delilah had only corrupted her. Used her and discarded her. She’d planned to _unmake_ Emily. To use her as a puppet and speak from the remaining shell. A mockery of all that Attano’s daughter had been. The man’s mercy was incredible, but Daud was fairly certain that it would have stopped short _right there_.

And as most of the various conspirators had proved, it was wise to be wary of the vengeance of a normally merciful man.

Hence, again, the question. At what point would his mercy towards _them_ run out?

“So what’s the plan, then?” Leonid asked. Her tone halfway between disbelieving and belligerent. A bear prodding a sore tooth, out of probably the same instinct as Daud’s. A desire to know where the _line_ was. “You promised Daud you wouldn’t kill us. If we decide to go after you again in the morning, you’re going to … _what_, exactly?”

She raised her arm a bit in front of Daud as she said it. Defensively. Daud stifled the urge to resist it. To knock it aside. To _intervene_. He couldn’t. The black, bitter truth was, he _couldn’t_. No matter what they decided now, all he could do was bear the consequences as they came. He could try to fight for them if the chance came. He _would_ try if the chance came. But likely neither they nor Attano would be stupid enough to give him the opportunity again.

Leonid leaned forward around him and glared at Attano. And Attano … looked coldly, steadily back.

“… I’ll have to stock up on sleep darts, I suppose,” he said. Slowly and carefully. That thin savagery about him once again. “I would advise not doing so publicly. One stray bolt towards Emily and my oath is lost. Nor will I keep anyone else from defending themselves as lethally as they choose. But by all means. Come for me as you see fit. I will answer it as best I can, for as long as I can.”

And this, too, Daud thought, was what Burrows must have seen. In Coldridge. Day after day in that interrogation room. The lean savagery of a man who had no recourse, but _would not bend_.

“… How does it end?” Thomas asked. Bleakly, behind Attano. Drawing the man’s attention and ire away. Standing straight to face him. “I didn’t … ask without reason. Before. How is this supposed to end? If we can’t … find a way out.”

Attano looked at him for a long minute. And then … away. Out sightlessly ahead of himself. 

“When one of you kills me, I suppose,” he said finally. “If it truly becomes unbearable. Search properly, stave it off long enough, and Emily’s reign should hopefully be stable enough by then. Or …” He paused, and glanced at Daud. “Or what we discussed earlier,” he said, very quietly. “Should we find out for certain that there’s no escape. If it turns out there’s no way out but one. That offer still stands. It will always stand.”

If there’s no way out but one. _If you need me to kill you._ Daud stared mutely at the man.

“… _Why_?” Thomas asked again. Leonid’s question. Asked as plaintively. “You could have killed us there. I saw you. You were up off him in seconds. I saw your bow. You could have killed us, and picked him up afterwards if you still wanted to. Why … Why are you _doing_ this?”

Because this was not how it happened. This was not what people did when they had power over someone. Not at these stakes. Not with this level of provocation. This wasn’t how it _went_. More than forty years in this world, and there was nothing Daud knew better than that. 

And he wondered … he wondered now if it was his fault that none of his people knew anything better either. If Attano really was that rare, or if it was just Daud’s fault.

Though there couldn’t be _that_ many like him.

Attano … thought of and discarded several answers to that. Daud watched him. What he finally settled on was:

“Because it’s the only choice by which I do not betray myself. And because I am in no mood to let this witch, or anyone like her, _win_.”

Which was … fair enough. And more than you could ask for, really. In your master.

“You’re a very strange man, Attano,” he rasped. Leaning forward, away from Leonid. Trying to sit up. Get himself moving again. Away, as far as he was able. “I don’t know how many people have told you that, but here’s a few more. You are a _very_ strange man.”

Attano raised an eyebrow again. “Says the teleporting assassin,” he noted. But mildly. With a faint smile in his voice.

Fisher snorted. Inserting herself into the conversation at last. “Like that’s weird,” she said. “That’s just _magic_. You, you’re weird.”

Attano considered that. And then shrugged, lightly.

“Fair enough,” he said. “Now. To get back on topic. Assuming that we have a truce for at least tonight. There are a few things I would … like to clarify. Before I actually do fall asleep where I sit. If nobody minds?”

Were they _allowed_ to, Daud wondered mildly. But the man had a point. Daud had been done about four hours and six conversations ago. With the ache still sitting in his chest, he was definitely done now. He’d agree to … almost anything, he knew, to have a moment to himself right now.

Which was not the state to be negotiating in. He knew. But then he wasn’t in a position in general to be negotiating right now.

He caught Thomas looking at him. When he glanced up. He found Thomas watching him, something very small and broken in his expression. Daud faltered, briefly. It was … strange to see.

“… As you wish,” Thomas said softly. To Attano. Looking away from Daud, and firming his expression to meet Attano’s eyes instead. “It will … last a bit longer. The truce. If my word counts, it will hold until … until the curse breaks. Or you betray yourself. But we can … clarify some things. Terms. If I’m right in assuming you have some?”

Attano looked between them. From Thomas to Daud and back again. Daud had no idea what might have been on his face in the process. But Attano … gentled slightly.

“Some,” he said. Tilting his head to look up at Thomas. His hands light and easy on his knees. “Daud and I … discussed some earlier. And there are … arrangements to be made. I think perhaps we would all be happier with spoken terms?”

An idea where the lines were. Yes. That would be quite welcome.

“… You want us to leave,” Thomas guessed. Quietly. “We have passage through the Tower for tonight, you said. You want us gone before morning.”

Something clenched in Daud’s chest. A strange sensation. On the one hand, he didn’t want them here. Too much could happen to them here. But on the other …

But Attano shook his head. Carefully. He shook his head.

“Yes and no,” he said. “I want … Daud can’t leave. That’s … obvious. I don’t think we want to try the curse any further tonight. So Daud at least has to stay. And I doubt you’ll want him to stay alone. In case I do … betray myself. But your presence complicates things. The Tower isn’t secure. And neither is Emily’s position. To have assassins as visible guests is going to be …”

A complicating factor. Yes. Especially once the Abbey started showing up. However …

“It can have its advantages,” Daud pointed out. Equally careful. “I’d say we’ve worked for a good two thirds of the nobles in Dunwall over the years. The kind that’ll be trying to bother you this soon, the ones trying their hardest to get a leg up in power and position, will almost certainly be known to us. And … we to them. It might … deter them somewhat. If it’s obvious that you have … knowledge of their sins, shall we say?”

Attano stared at him. Something dark and surprised in his eyes. “Are … you sure that’s an impression you want to give?” he asked. After a pause. “There’s no telling how long you’ll have to stay here. If you let the Crown use you like that, you’ll paint a target on your back. Even aside from the fact that it’s a double-edged sword to start with.”

Which was … surprisingly astute of him. Though Daud supposed Attano must rapidly be becoming the world’s foremost expert on coups. Not much left of the simple bodyguard anymore. 

“… It is a double-edged sword,” he acknowledged. “But for them more than me. Anyone who tries to come after me legally has to run the risk that I’ve evidence of my own piled away. Which I have, by the way. Insurance is only sensible in my business. And anyone who tries _otherwise_ is … unlikely to be better at my trade than me. There are very few who can claim that.”

It had been a point of pride for so long. It was less so now. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t still be useful.

But Attano shook his head slowly. “That’s a dangerous balance,” he said softly. “Leverage from the shadows is one thing. To tie yourself publicly to the Kaldwin name is … another. I know we’ll have difficulty hiding your presence if you’re forced to stay long-term. But that is not a question for tonight. Or for any time before it becomes absolutely necessary. It’s not a decision you can step back from. And the consequences can be …”

His expression shuttered. His hand curled lightly in his shirt. Over the scars it hid, maybe. The littering of burns that Sokolov had been so dismissive of. Consequences. Of being known to belong to the Kaldwins. Yes.

Daud wasn’t sure if they were all that worse than the consequences of being an _assassin_. Certainly not worse than being _Marked_. Or pissing off witches. But it was … 

Interesting. Of the man. To offer both the knowledge and apparently the choice.

“That aside,” Attano went on. Refocusing. “I meant more in the short-term. You want contact with your Whalers. They … definitely want contact with you. But they be can’t be _seen_ to be Whalers. At least not yet.”

“You want us to ditch the uniform while we’re here, basically,” Fisher translated. “You’re willing to allow … a few of us? … to be here. But we’ve got to play the part. Right?”

Attano blinked up at her, but nodded readily. “More or less. Along with a few … other terms. I presume it goes without saying that I would prefer that you not kill anyone while you’re here. Unless they try to kill you first, and … even then. If it’s at all possible.”

Leonid snorted faintly. “You don’t have low standards, do you,” she said. “And yes. We’d noticed the aversion to bloodshed, all right.”

Mostly towards _them_, but also generally. A bloodless not-murder spree by a rank amateur. Yes. They’d noticed.

Attano winced faintly. “Outside of necessity,” he corrected. “I know not every situation allows it. But … yes. While you’re here. I cannot justify turning a blind eye to Curnow if you blatantly—”

“We’ve never _blatantly_ anything,” Daud growled. Slightly nettled. “Unless we were paid to, anyway. We’re not an amateur operation, Attano!”

Which … in context was not reassuring. It didn’t actually help their case. But pride was a thing.

Attano stared at him. For a long minute. An utterly unreadable expression on his face. 

“All right,” he said, after a moment. In a noticeably cooler voice. Doing a marvellous impression of his daughter, sitting leonine on the carpet as though it was a throne. “My apologies for slighting your professional standards. If you can avoid killing anyone while you’re here, _blatantly or otherwise_, I would be very grateful.”

“We’ll … make a note,” Leonid said faintly. Trying to edge semi-subtly between Attano and Daud. Failing utterly, at least on the subtlety. “No killing. Got it. We weren’t actually _planning_ … I mean. It’s not like we’ve got a higher priority than getting our boss back, right now. We weren’t planning on picking up any _jobs_ or anything while we’re here.”

Which was not … Daud broke his staring match with Attano to blink in dismay at her. At Thomas, too, when he glanced at the man for confirmation, and found Thomas ducking his head both ashamedly and … stubbornly. Very stubbornly.

“Oh no,” Daud growled. Wishing very much that he was standing right now. “You still have to _eat_. The plague isn’t over yet either. You can’t put everything on hold for potentially—You can’t wait until I get out of here! I _might not_.”

Thomas flinched. Full-bodied. But glared back mulishly. 

“We’re going to have to look for witches. Information. Getting you out of this won’t be a small job, and I won’t lower the priority of it. If we can’t take anything that might be tied back to you here, where you _can’t run_, we’re not going to have a lot of options for traditional jobs anyway. I’m not going to take a contract from some pissy lordling that’s going to get you killed, not for any money. We’ll … get by. Between the plague and the coups there’s pickings the city over. We’ll manage. And anyone who can’t abide by that is more than welcome to strike out on their own!”

He glared at Daud. Fists clenched and chest heaving slightly. Daud stared at him for an endless second. A giant fist clenching in _his_ chest.

He’d not … thought about that. Yet. He’d been distracted. Self-absorbed. He’d failed to consider … what being tied to the Tower, even unofficially, would do to them. To their choices.

“Then cut me loose,” he said finally. Coldly, remotely. Ignoring the way all four of them tensed like bowstrings. “Drop this now. Get out and take the Whalers with you. I’m ordering it.”

Thomas stared at him. Shocked. His face white. Something stark, something _volcanic_, lurking behind it. True rebellion. The kind of thing he’d used to see on Billie’s face. But Thomas wasn’t Billie. This rebellion was all … loyalty. The kind that ate itself. 

He wasn’t going to say yes. Daud could tell. But he also couldn’t say _no_. Not without undermining the very loyalty that caused this in the first place. Not without saying that Daud’s orders weren’t fit to be obeyed.

Maybe they _weren’t_, right now. Maybe they never had been. But Thomas would not be the man to say it.

He’d trapped his second in a neat prong, doing this. Daud knew that. The kind that could well break a man. But they couldn’t … For _fuck’s sake_. They couldn’t just sit here in this pot next to him and wait for it to slowly boil them all to death!

“… There are,” Attano started slowly. Recalling at least some of their attention to him. Stepping gingerly and metaphorically into their midst. Daud snapped his head around to glare at him. Willing to tolerate many things, out of a sheer lack of choice, but _not this_. Not interfering with this. Attano stared steadily back at him. Unflinching. “There are other options. Financially, at least. If that is … the primary issue.”

Daud found himself groping at his waist instinctively. Reaching for a knife, no matter how blatantly suicidal it might be. Thomas … did not take his eyes off Daud. Or budge his expression one iota. It was Leonid who jumped in. Fast and hard and desperate.

“Talk fast, Lord Protector,” she said thickly, glancing between the three of them. “Please.”

“I’ll have a salary reinstated soon,” Attano replied. Instantly, but calmly. “As well as … The plague will be the city’s primary priority. Allocating resources to cure it. But as much of my pre-arrest funds as still exist will be returned to me. Emily won’t budge on that. And I’ll have two salaries. Royal Protector and de facto Spymaster. There’ll be … a budget. For agents. Since I won’t be trusting anyone of Burrows’.”

They glanced at each other. The other three, Leonid and Fisher and Aedan. Even Daud faltered a little. Even his shoulders softened.

Not Thomas’. He was nowhere near softening yet.

“And how … are you going to justify _that_ one to Curnow?” Aedan asked softly. A little pointedly too. “You don’t think he’ll mind you hiring assassins?”

Attano glanced at him. “I won’t be,” he said. “I’ll be hiring agents. Daud isn’t the only one you’ll be freeing if you find a way out of this. That justifies my personal money. And … the information you already have. On the lords we have left. That would easily justify the spymaster’s budget.” 

That was … actually reasonable. Every part of Daud _rebelled_ at it, at Attano having any control whatsoever over his Whalers, but it was actually reasonable. Money alone wouldn’t be enough to cage them. Not if they really needed to break free. The reach of a _spymaster_ potentially was, but Attano would be that anyway, regardless of whether they accepted or not. He had them over … so many barrels already. Had done from the moment he’d drifted into Rudshore. Realistically speaking, this couldn’t actually make it worse. And it _might_ give them more options.

It might let them _stay_. With him. It might give _him_ options. And Daud … couldn’t tell anymore, right now, what reasons he was making decisions for.

He probably shouldn’t be making any of them. Not with a thing in his thoughts twisting him every which way. Not with Attano … Attano _existing_. Twisting his thoughts every _other_ way. Daud had probably lost all rights to make decisions for anyone over six months ago, when his sword had pierced an Empress’ chest. Everything he touched turned to shit. Maybe he should … stop trying for a while.

At least a night. Maybe … Maybe he should leave the decisions until he hadn’t spent half the evening on various floors in agony.

He slumped down. Another heap on the floor. He pressed both palms to his face and just … breathed for a minute. Pulled whatever was left of himself back together. Pulled his temper and his despair back into check.

When he looked back up, Attano was looking at him. That strange, pained expression on his face. Sympathy, Daud realised dully. Not pity. The look of a man who’d … been there.

Thomas’s expression, when he chanced a look there, had graduated from volcanic to bleakly heartbroken.

It wasn’t better.

“Can we … come back to that?” Daud rasped finally. Exhaustedly. “All of that. Can we … settle terms for tonight and work from there?”

“… Yeah,” said Leonid. Faintly. “Sounds good.”

Attano nodded gently.

Thomas … thought about it. For a good minute. But he was too good a second, too loyal a _person_, to push it much.

“We’re coming back to it,” he said, in a voice that creaked. “That doesn’t get to pass, sir. But … yes. For now.”

“_Okay_,” said Fisher. Clapping her hands briefly, to absolutely nobody’s appreciation. “So. Summary for tonight, then. No killing the Lord Protector. No killing anyone else, not unless _really_ pushed. Volunteers to stay go incognito. Anything I missed?”

Attano rubbed his palm across his own face. “Not really,” he sighed. “Not on my end. I assume you all know that anyone who looks cross-eyed at Emily will be gutted where they stand. I asked Curnow to assign a guest room for Daud about … about two hours ago now. The one across the hall here. It has an attached anteroom. Will probably sleep two if you can rob cots from somewhere. More if you’re pushed.”

Daud’s Whalers glanced at each other again. A quick four-way communication. Well, mostly three-way, actually. Thomas wasn’t … entirely in a state to make decisions either.

“Me and Tom to stay,” Leonid decided finally. “Aedan, you take Killian and report back. Get things set up. Fish, you take Rulf for watch?”

“Sure,” she said easily. “We’ll go high. Keep an eye scanned.”

Attano’s face scrunched. “If you mean the roof, Burrows’ hideaway was up there. There’s a lot of … detritus. Left-over security. Broadcast tower would be better.”

Fisher eyeballed him. A little disbelievingly. “… Thanks,” she said slowly. “For that security advice. On how to break into your house. When was the last time you _slept_, exactly?”

Attano laughed. “About a year ago,” he answered. “Or …” He paused briefly to count in his head. “About five days ago? Not counting catnaps and being poisoned. Or possibly six. I can’t remember anymore. The night before the Boyle party, anyway.”

They stared at him a bit. “Yeah,” Leonid said carefully. “Yeah, that was a while ago. Okay. Bed time now. Got it.”

Daud grunted. “I told him he needed an elixir,” he commented. Which rewarded him with four stares being pointed at _him_. Five. Attano stared too.

“… Not touching that,” Leonid decided. After a moment. “Yeah. No fucking way. Go the fuck to bed, boss. Try not to die on the way. Okay?”

Daud _looked_ at her. “I will do my best,” he said. _Slowly_. She had sense enough to squeak and look away. “One of you escort Attano to his room before you go, will you. Make sure _he_ doesn’t die on the way.”

“He’s 90% dead and he still almost managed to kill two of us,” Thomas pointed out. Mildly. “Not to mention you. But of course, sir. No problem.”

“At this point, it’s managing _not_ to kill people that’s mostly the problem,” Attano informed them. Helpfully. “It needs more forward planning. And less … rage.”

… Comforting. Daud suspected that Leonid and Aedan, at least, had gone a bit green under their masks. Though Thomas wasn’t looking remotely reassured either.

Daud wasn’t either. Come to that.

“… I’ll take the Lord Protector,” Thomas said. _Carefully_. “Fish, you can shadow. Let’s, ah. Let’s go now, yeah?”

“_Yep_,” Fisher agreed, sing-song and high-pitched. “Right away, sir!”

Attano snorted softly again. And set about laboriously trying to climb to his feet. It was an operation and a half. Thomas broke, about half way, and gingerly stepped forward to offer him an arm. Attano … smiled at him. Oddly serious. And took it.

Thomas would probably have looked less unnerved if the man had stabbed him.

“… Attano,” Daud said. Heard himself saying. An odd note in his voice. Half warning, half … something else. Attano looked at him. Slim and dark and lethal. And … nodded softly. To all of it. Everything Daud hadn’t managed to say, or even think. Every unvocalised bit of dread lurking in Daud’s chest. For himself and … everything else he was currently entrusting to the man’s mercy. Attano noted it. And nodded.

“… Come on, sir,” Thomas murmured. Looking warily between them. “Enough for tonight, hmm?”

“Yes,” Attano agreed. Quietly. “More than. I know.”

And then they were gone, their absence causing on odd twist in Daud’s chest, and it was his turn to stagger his way to his feet. With … help. From Leonid, who was stubborn, and not quite scared enough of him, even in a temper. Aedan at least was content to keep watch. Leonid … less so. She was sturdy and casual. She didn’t say anything, just slung him up like they’d just won another fight, rather than … anything else. It still grated. It still burned. So much.

Daud closed his eyes. Struggled against the surge of … hatred. For their pity. Because it wasn’t. He knew that. Whatever else it might be, it wasn’t pity. But he didn’t … want it. Right now. Either way.

He needed to sleep, he thought. Alone. He needed … time with no hands on him. No eyes to see. At least for a little while. A night.

He needed a little time to claw his way out of his skin in peace.

So. Guest room it was, then. He supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go to sleep, everyone


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Daud wakes up, braves Thomas and Leonid once more, and reaches ... an understanding, if not quite a compromise

Daud woke up slowly. A long, reluctant climb back to consciousness. The bed was soft. Comfortable, if a bit too large for his taste. The yellow light of midmorning filled the unfamiliar room around him. He’d slept too long. Or, perhaps, not long enough.

He lay there for a few minutes. Just blinking slowly at the light. Taking silent stock of himself. Of his memories. They were, unfortunately, crystal clear. Etched in his mind. But he didn’t seem to be in too much physical pain, at least. Twinges. The wounds Attano had left in Rudshore protesting slightly. Leon had mostly seen to those before Daud had left, though, so they weren’t doing too badly. Everything else …

Aches. More the memory of pain than anything else. As if it might not have happened at all.

Daud closed his eyes. Reached up to press his palms across his face. He had an urge to scream. To just roar hoarsely into his hands. But he could hear movement in the other room. Thomas and Leonid. He wasn’t going to let them hear that now. He’d done more than enough of that last night.

He had slept at some point, though. Actual sleep, not nightmares and heaving. Judging by the light, he’d gotten at least four hours of good sleep out of it. Which was … surprising. All things considered. But now was not the time to curse good fortune.

The Outsider also hadn’t stopped by. Daud was definitely not cursing _that_ fortune. It probably meant he could look forward to a visitation later on, but he’d deal with that when it happened.

Everything else …

He needed to talk to Thomas first. Whatever else was going to happen. Daud remembered last night all too clearly. A confrontation or two, a _reaction_ or two, that needed discussing between them. On … both ends, probably. He could admit that he hadn’t been entirely sensible himself last night. Thomas, though …

And Leonid. Possibly. He hadn’t expected that from _her_. For her and Aedan to jump, of all people. Aedan wasn’t prone to that sort of thing. He was usually a lot more cautious by far. And while Leonid was rough and blunt, she didn’t usually jump in knife first. Not ten minutes into a conversation, anyway. The circumstances were extraordinary, yes, but it was still an … extreme reaction. And one he hadn’t fully expected.

The possibility, yes. But not the extremity. He’d thought they might go for Attano. But he hadn’t … been fully prepared for the reality of it.

Or the results of it. 

He drew a shaky breath. No, he hadn’t been prepared for that. Any part of it, from the curse onwards. The knowledge of the sheer … the sheer level of pain the thing could bring to bear. He’d never felt the like. He’d been in a lot of pain in his life. He’d been beaten, battered, stabbed and sliced with the best of them. There’d been nothing close to the curse. The only thing even remotely in its league were those _blasted_ music boxes, and at least those let you pass out after a certain amount of time. Unconsciousness could be your shield, if absolutely nothing else. This thing …

What had his mother _done_, he wondered vaguely. What in the void had she done to piss the witch off _this badly_?

Though judging by Delilah, she didn’t necessarily need to have done anything that directly. Witches could hold grudges like no other, and not necessarily over direct insults. 

And if Daud had to bet, he’d say a failure to bow had been the bulk of the offence. Just judging by the curse’s behaviour. The things it punished most ardently. His mother hadn’t bent when she was supposed to. She hadn’t offered proper respect. This wasn’t about enmity. It wasn’t a blood grudge or an attempted murder or anything like that. The thing hadn’t punished him for _attacking_ Attano, it had punished him for …

For choosing someone else over him. For failing to offer proper apology. For trying to … trying to _leave_.

… _Fuck_. Fuck. He really, really hoped he was wrong here. But that pattern didn’t speak of enmity. Not in the traditional, from-the-outset sense, anyway. It spoke of something else. It spoke of someone who’d been refused something they thought they were _owed_. Who’d then decided to ensure that further refusals … ceased to be an option.

There were rewards for obedience. A lack of pain. He wondered if there’d be rewards for anything _else_, as well. 

Not that he was planning to let himself find out.

Which meant he had to get up. He had to talk to his people. He had to start actually working on a solution here. Because this thing in his blood was not going to wait. And he rather suspected that it had a lot more stamina than he did.

He rolled sideways with a groan. And then rolled some more, because beds in Dunwall Tower were clearly designed to sleep sixteen or so. For fuck’s sake. By the time his feet actually made it to the floor, he could hear silence from the next room. Alert, _expectant_ silence. Well. They knew he was awake, at least. Time to face the music.

Hopefully not literally. But two High Overseers on, it would likely be a while before the Abbey braved the Tower or Attano again. 

He shoved his feet into his boots. He’d normally sleep with them on, to be able to move if he needed to, but … Actually, he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. Politeness? Despair? Something between those two, maybe. It was a nice bed. And as far as he would be allowed to get at the minute, he might as well do it barefoot.

The thought soured his already beleaguered stomach. He shoved himself to his feet and stomped to the door in a fine temper.

This much, at least, had been anticipated. Leonid grimaced at the expression on his face, hunching her shoulders slightly, but she shoved a mug in his face before he could do more than open his mouth. Coffee, by the smell. She stepped neatly between him and Thomas, though to protect which of them he wasn’t entirely sure, and stabbed a finger towards a side table instead.

“Breakfast first,” she said bluntly. “Food first, fight later. When you look less _dead_.”

Daud glared mutinously at her. She hunched some more, but stared stubbornly back. Daud wondered vaguely how bad a sign that was. A month ago, she wouldn’t have challenged him to his face. Not like this. Almost none of them would have. Before Delilah. Before Billie. Before Attano. Had he let it slip so far? Was he weak enough for all respect to be lost entirely?

But it didn’t look like disdain on her unmasked face. Or even doubt. It was … something else. Something that would have been perfectly at home on _Attano’s_.

Daud considered blackly if the man might be _infectious_.

But he was too tired. Four hours of sleep wasn’t nearly enough to pick a fight straight off. And food wouldn’t do any harm either. He grabbed the mug and stalked over to drop heavily into a seat.

“I hope I can get a _report_, at least?” he growled. In time with his stomach, which chose that _precise_ second to announce itself and prove Leonid right. Because of course it did. She kept a straight face, at least. She shuffled slightly, glancing at Thomas, but she didn’t smirk. They gingerly approached the table, as if expecting an explosion, and sat down very cautiously across from him.

“Of course, sir,” Thomas answered, prompt and polite as ever. With only the barest hint of an odd undertone. “Not much has changed. We swapped watches around dawn. Fisher and Rulfio went back. Aedan sent … Um. He sent Connor. And … Leon. To replace them.”

Leon. Aedan sent _Leon_.

They didn’t cringe. Or Thomas didn’t, anyway. Leonid did, a bit, but Thomas managed to keep his shoulders straight and his face impassive. They both _clearly_ expected an explosion, though. Daud briefly considered obliging them, too.

Sending a medic, their _only_ medic, into … not enemy territory, exactly, but not fucking far from it. Yes. Daud considered exploding, just a little bit.

“… _Why_ did he send Leon?” he asked. Very mildly. But he knew why. Of course he knew. And so did they, and that was why they were cringing in their seats, and that was also why …

Why Thomas straightened, eventually. Why Thomas’ spine went ramrod stiff and his jaw acquired a grim, hard set. So. They weren’t going to manage to wait until after breakfast, then.

“We didn’t insist last night, sir,” Thomas said. Very carefully, though more to keep _himself_ in check than out of any particular care for Daud’s response. “You asked us not to, and Attano—Attano said it would be better to leave it. But you _need_— You were already wounded. From the fight with Attano. If nothing else, you should at least check to see that nothing tore.”

Daud stared at him. For a long, long minute, while Thomas grew gradually stiffer. Then he looked away, very deliberately. And drank some coffee. Also deliberately.

Leonid made a small noise. A faint growl of frustration. Like she wanted to beat his head in. Or possibly Thomas’, he wasn’t sure. 

“… Attano said?” Daud asked. Still mild. Just to test them. But also … Something simmered inside him. Something he didn’t want to look at too closely. Something _dangerous_. They might have sensed it. But Thomas was already rigid enough that maybe it wouldn’t have mattered.

But he didn’t growl, when he answered. He didn’t snap back at Daud, or fall back on icy formality. Something faltered in his expression, instead. Something wavered.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “When I … When me and Fish were escorting him back. He said … He said not to push. That maybe it wasn’t his place, but we should … leave it the night. If we could. If you wanted it. He said it was one of the only things nights in the cells were good for in Coldridge. To … To deal with what happened outside of them. So … we shouldn’t push.”

Something gaped open in his expression, as he said it. Something gaped wide and awful. That was … fair. Something gaped in Daud’s stomach too.

There was … nothing in that he wanted to touch. Nothing he wanted to think about. So he didn’t.

“… Nothing tore,” he said instead. A thick, unwieldy rasp. “It’s … I checked. Nothing tore.”

He knew what to do with wounds from violence. They were nothing. Attano hadn’t given him anything really decisive in Rudshore. A few gashes. A few bruises. It had been exhaustion that had stopped Daud, not pain. Well. Maybe blood loss, a little, but not really. He just … hadn’t wanted to fight the man. Not all the way. The few cuts … They were fine. They’d been seen to. They were fine.

Everything else was a _plague pit_. But the cuts were fine.

Thomas bit his lip. But didn’t argue.

“_Breakfast_,” said Leonid. A little desperately, shoving a plate under Daud’s nose. “I fucking told you. Eat some breakfast first. We can talk about how fucked we are afterwards, all right? Leon will keep. Him and Connor are stashed up in the broadcast tower. Eat … Eat first.”

Daud’s stomach turned over. Rebelling. But why not?

He took the plate from her. Set it down in front him. And blinked at it. At the fried egg, and blood sausage. And the neat little triangle of toast. What … What the fuck?

“The kitchen sent it up,” Thomas said quietly. “The Tower knows we’re here. Or _someone_ anyway knows we’re here. I doubt they know who we are. Aside from Curnow. And Attano.”

Daud blinked some more, and then grimaced. And dug in. It had gone cold, a bit, but it was still better than most of what you could get in the Flooded District. “And the Empress,” he said. Just to put the cap on it. “Attano and I spoke to her last night. She knows I’m staying. She … allowed it.”

Leonid made a noise. A hysterical little snorting sound. “Of fucking course she did,” she said, her voice cracked open and amazed. “Of _course_ she did. I mean, why not?”

She was Attano’s bloody daughter, after all. Why not indeed.

Thomas was looking at him oddly. While Daud made his way through the sausage. He had the oddest expression on his face.

“He is … serious, then?” he asked finally. “Attano. If he told his Empress. He is … serious about trying to …?”

Allow them. Help. Not take advantage of the curse. Any and all of the above.

Daud swallowed his mouthful, and put the sausage back down. He probably did need to answer this one in full. Attano had … given a demonstration last night. Several. But they’d only been there for the last one, as dramatic as it was. He should … explain.

“I think so,” he said finally. “I didn’t … I didn’t have a chance to explain at first. He had to find her, he couldn’t wait that long. But he let me go with him. Even without it. He let me near her. And … you saw his reaction to the curse. He despises it. That’s real. He asked the Outsider to rip it out of him. He hates being forced. That someone put it on him without his will. He’ll see it broken. I do believe him on that. And he’ll fight its strictures. I believe him on _that_ too. He is … unfond of torture. And as stubborn as a fucking mule besides.”

Leonid looked away rapidly. Biting her lips to keep her face straight. Thomas didn’t. Daud’s second was still hyper-focused.

“… You don’t want us to kill him, do you?” he asked softly. Except … not really asked. Stated. Soft and tired. “You didn’t in Rudshore, and you don’t now. If one of you has to die to finish it … you don’t want it to be him.”

Daud … swallowed slightly. But met Thomas’ eyes anyway. 

“I don’t plan on dying,” he said. “I don’t plan on letting her win, or letting this stand. But if it comes down to it …”

If it came down to it. He would choose his Whalers over Attano. But not himself. He’d decided that in Rudshore, before the curse was ever a factor, and he’d stick to it. Despite … everything. 

Or because of it, maybe. 

“You don’t _owe_ him that,” Thomas whispered. _Thomas’_ sticking point. “There’s no reason it should be you and not him. You don’t owe it.”

Daud looked down at his breakfast. 

“The curse was not his doing,” he said, in lieu of … anything else. “It wasn’t his blood it came through. Or his actions. If anyone pays for my mother, it’ll be me. I owe _her_ that.”

He wasn’t going to mention that _she_ would have killed Attano. Probably. She might have regretted it even as she did it. Daud really did think she would have liked the man. He was stubborn. He was cool and clever and a man of his creed. She would have liked that. Enough to regret it when she cut him down. But she probably would have killed him anyway. By poison, if the curse wouldn’t let her do it directly. By whatever other means presented itself, if that was barred as well. She would have fought her way out, one way or another.

She always had been stronger than him. Maybe Thomas would have liked _her_ too.

Because Thomas did deserve better. Deserve stronger. Deserve someone that wouldn’t put … put that pale, trembling expression on his face. Void damn it.

“… Then I suppose we should find that other way,” the man said quietly. A thin, iron determination. “Because I’m not allowing that, sir. I’m sorry. We will … make sure it doesn’t come to that. Because it’s not happening. And if he—If he betrays himself. If he leans into this. Uses it as it seems to be designed to be used. I will kill him. I’ll kill him or die trying. You won’t stop me.”

Daud pressed his lips together. Something strange, something … light and trembling … in his chest.

“And I suppose you won’t leave either,” he murmured. “There’s no chance of you … taking them and getting out.”

Thomas shook his head slowly. Leonid snorted. A little wetly.

“There’s no chance of us being _taken_,” she grumbled lightly. “By Tom or anyone else. There’s … Some have left. Aedan sent word. There’s some thinking of leaving. But it won’t be me. Or Fish, or Rulf, or Aedan, or Leon. Or Tynan. You’re stuck, sir. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.” She smiled crookedly. “And so, I guess, is the Lord Protector. At least for now.”

Daud wasn’t sure if the Lord Protector would be _grateful_ for that. Though at least they’d already stated when they’d kill him and what for. Unlike the last two sets of allies the man had thought he’d had. So there was that.

“… There won’t be a payoff for this,” Daud cautioned softly. Probably uselessly, but at least he owed them that much. “I’m stuck in a hole. All you’re doing is climbing in after me. But I won’t … I won’t send you away. If that’s your choice. I won’t order it. I won’t make that mistake again.”

An … apology. For the thing he’d done that had wounded Thomas most deeply. Which was _still stupid_, it was still blind idiocy on the part of the man to be pissed off at _this_, of all things, but Daud … did know what he’d done. And he did regret it. So.

Thomas closed his eyes. His expression shuttered, for just a second. Raw relief. Other … Other things. Daud didn’t look. He couldn’t.

“We don’t leave our people in a hole,” Thomas said, after that second. Quiet and sure. Making up a creed as he went. “Not without a way out. If he’d killed you, we’d have left. But we won’t leave you chained. That’s … that’s only fair.”

Daud snorted softly. “I don’t think your standards for fair match the rest of the world’s.”

Thomas smiled bleakly at him. “Maybe not,” he said. “But I bet they match Attano’s. Or come close, anyway. I … I think he approved. Last night. I think he _approved_ of what we did. You. And us.”

“Which is still fucking nuts,” Leonid opinioned quietly. Bewilderedly. “And that … that thing. The heart. The … The … I think she approved too. When you fucked him over. When you picked us over him. I think _she_ … approved too.”

… _Not_ thinking about it. About anything to do with that. Never. No. But still …

“Loyalty,” he said. Distantly. “I think they approve of loyalty. Even if it’s not to them. At least it’s something _honest_. Not just … backstabbing for backstabbing’s sake. After Burrows, I think they’ve had enough of that.”

Thomas laughed brokenly. “So we’re better than Burrows, then?” he asked. “How’s that for being damned with faint praise?”

… Yes and no. Yes and _no_.

They were right, at least about Attano. His standards for fairness were strictly incredible, and his standards for reasonable actions were in the _sewer_. His hold on power wasn’t just loose, it was dangerously lax. They weren’t wrong about him.

They were wrong about themselves, though. It wasn’t faint praise. Daud didn’t think even Attano had meant it like that. He’d … He’d compared it Emily. Their decision to kill him. He’d directly compared it to what he would do for his daughter and his Empress. Daud … had no idea how to feel about that. Even still. That Attano would put his Whalers’ loyalty to _Daud_ against his own to his Empress, and find them similar. Attano had toppled governments for her. Had pulled himself out of a torture pit and thrown himself against every force Dunwall could bring to bear for her sake. To have them compared to _that_ …

And not wrongly. It would seem. Judging by this entire conversation so far. And several other things, over the past few months. And that was … a thing too far again. A thing far too big to deal with.

How the fuck had she _borne_ it? The Empress. _Daud’s_ Empress. Jessamine. Emily was too young, maybe, to understand properly. Her father came for her. It was only reasonable to expect that. Her father was immortal, and unbeatable, and no matter how many people told her he was dead, she knew he would still come for her. The faith of a child. But Jessamine had to have been different. She had to have an idea … how rare it really was. Attano’s loyalty. The sheer strength of it.

How had she borne it, knowing it was pointed at her? Knowing he would die, at any moment, just for her?

The knife was so much easier. So much _simpler_.

“… He bargained with Sokolov for help,” Daud found himself saying. A tangent. Though related. “Attano. Last night. For information on the curse. Anything Sokolov has on Pandyssia. It’s where … It’s where my mother would most likely have met the witch. Attano offered him a look at his Mark for anything Sokolov … might not have published from his trip.”

They stared at him for that. Slightly wrongfooted, probably, at the change in course. But possibly also for other reasons.

“Would Sokolov … _have_ anything?” Leonid asked. Carefully. Daud growled.

“No. Not on witches. Nothing of any use. He wouldn’t know real magic if it _bit_ him. But I think he’s one of the few resources Attano has. So far, at least. The black-eyed bastard refused to help us outright. I don’t think Attano has many more options.”

“But he’s … looking for them,” Thomas said slowly. “He’s looking for options himself. He’s trying …”

“To break the curse,” Daud confirmed. Nodding tiredly. “I told you I believed him. He’s looking for a way out as well. I just don’t think he’ll get very far. His Mark is a month old. He hasn’t the first idea where to start.”

A rank amateur. In so many ways. But a man of terrifying will despite that. A man not to rule out.

“… You didn’t tell him about Delilah, then,” Thomas went on, and there was an oddness back in his voice. A wrong note. Daud looked across at him.

“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I haven’t had a chance yet. We had to save his Empress first. And then explain the curse, to him and to her. I hadn’t gotten around to the witch who tried to eat her soul yet. I was … building up to that one.”

Because it was going to hurt, that conversation. One instance of watching Attano with his daughter had been enough to prove that. The man had torn his way through a city for her. Broken two conspiracies. But he still would have been too late, if not for Daud. She would have been … worse than dead, if not for him and his Whalers. A puppet in her own skin. Daud … had no idea how Attano was going to take that. But he didn’t think it was going to be enjoyable. 

How did you explain to a man that while he was crawling his way out of pain and death for her, a witch he’d never seen coming had come within inches of eating his daughter’s soul?

They were going to _have_ to. The remnants of Delilah’s coven were going to be their best chance at tackling this curse from a witch’s point of view, unless anyone knew where to find Granny Rags and how to get anything resembling sense out of her. But Daud was definitely not looking forward to the conversation.

But that wasn’t the part that was bothering Thomas. Or at least not the only part.

“He doesn’t know you saved her,” his second repeated dully. “All … All that, and he _doesn’t know_ …” He dropped his face into his palms. “How are you _alive_? That was the only piece of decent bargaining power you had, and you _didn’t use it_? How were you not _dead_ the second you caught up with him?”

Which was … a decent question. If not in a _tone_ that Daud particularly liked. But still.

“I have no idea,” he admitted baldly. “He did think about it, to be fair. Although I think that was more because Admiral Havelock had just made a very big dent in his mercy in general. But I think … I think I was safer without it. He doesn’t like things being forced on him. I don’t think he would have appreciated my attempting to use her to stave off death. Better to sort that part out first, and deal with the rest afterwards.”

And it fit Daud’s own remnants of honour better as well. A life for a life. Jessamine for Daud. That was balanced. Throwing some … gift at the man’s feet, ‘look, see what I’ve done’, had not sat right with him either. _Begging_. He wouldn’t have told him. Not just for that. Delilah, she was a separate thing. A mystery the Outsider had given Daud, a decision he’d made with none of Attano’s input. A woman who’d stolen Billie from them. He’d made his choices, all of them, and he’d _answer_ for all of them. Each on their own merits. He hadn’t done what he did to stave off death from a different quarter.

And having met Emily now … not a screaming, angry child, torn from her mother’s corpse, but the _Empress_ … She was more than worth it. Just on her own. She was nothing Delilah had ever deserved to touch. She wasn’t a thing for Daud to bargain with. No more than his Whalers.

Who were staring at him, now. Thomas between his fingers. They were looking at him with … nothing recognisable on their faces whatsoever.

“… I can’t decide who’s the greater idiot,” Leonid said wonderingly. “Our boss, for not telling the nice man trying to _kill_ him why he shouldn’t … or the nice man for _not_ killing him when he had no good reason not to. Or us! Also not killing us, when he had _every_ reason to. Actually, you’re right. The Lord Protector is definitely the bigger idiot here. But hey! We get to live!”

She was … slightly hysterical. Daud squinted at her, wondering suddenly how many hours of sleep _she’d_ gotten. Thomas too, for that matter. They were staked out in enemy territory, after all. Right in the heart of Dunwall Tower. They were lucky any of them had managed anything.

“It’s done now,” he said anyway. Quellingly, in vague hopes of calming her down. “It’s done and we’re not dead. Whatever goes into Attano’s decisions, he was satisfied enough without Delilah. We can work from that. We’re going to have to.”

Leonid hiccoughed gently, and snatched … snatched his sausage off his plate. The remains of it. She stuffed it into her mouth to keep from saying anything.

Daud stared at her. 

“… Are we going to keep not telling him, then?” Thomas asked. To keep Daud from murdering Leonid, possibly, but when Daud looked at him he seemed serious. He’d taken his hands off his face, and was frowning thoughtfully now. “Say that we got into a fight with this coven, over territory or something, and just not mention what Delilah was doing?”

Daud blinked. And actually thought about it for a minute.

“… No,” he decided finally. Almost instinctively, and doing his best not to think too hard about the reasons for that. “I don’t think we should start leaving something of that magnitude out. If he finds out about it later, from one of the witches or something else, I don’t think he’s going to like that we knew of that kind of threat to his daughter and didn’t tell him. Safer to be up front from the start.” A pause, and then: “Especially if he’s going to be paying us.”

Thomas had opened his mouth. To argue, it looked like, to bristle at the idea of Attano’s opinion being a factor in them telling him something or not, but that … that stopped him. That gave him pause.

“… Is he?” he asked. _Very_ cautiously. “I thought … I thought we had shelved that.”

Daud grimaced, and drank a mouthful of cold coffee. “We’ve had out everything _else_ in that conversation,” he grumbled. “This part’s the least of it. And if you _are_ staying, it’s sensible. If you’re going to be doing the job anyway, you might as well be getting paid for it.”

And never mind that Attano had been the one to offer, and to protect _Thomas_. To pull Thomas out of the hole that Daud had put him in. He’d justified it quickly enough by other means, but it had been obvious at the time why he was doing it. And if Daud thought about that too much, he was going to punch Attano and just take the hour writhing on the floor for it.

Fair all round, really.

Thomas eyed him. Very much not reassured. By Daud in general at the minute, apparently. And Daud wasn’t thinking about _that_ either. 

“I didn’t think you’d … want to,” the man finally said. Warily, but with that odd note again. “I … didn’t think you’d want to work for another spymaster. All things considered.”

Daud almost laughed. He huffed out a startled breath. Well. That was a fair point, wasn’t it?

“Attano’s a different breed to Burrows,” he said mildly. “By a long way. If he wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here. Believe me. I would have sorted it out one way or another from the start. If _Burrows_ had had anything like this over me …”

Even the thought of it had his skin trying to crawl away from his flesh. It was bad enough from Attano, to whom he owed at least _some_ of it, but the thought of _Burrows_ … Or anyone like him. To be bound like this to anyone of that stripe. Daud would have cut his own throat without a second thought. And done _everything_ in his power to make sure they followed after him.

Not that Burrows could have won it from him. Not the way Attano did. But the thought remained. Burrows touching him, with this power behind his hand. It wouldn’t even have been the pain. The shame and revulsion alone would have destroyed him.

He was afraid of Attano. Of the curse in Attano’s hands. He could admit that. But it didn’t … break something in him. Not yet. It wasn’t a betrayal of himself, the way it would be … Attano had earned his respect outside of the curse. Attano had made no bones about where he thought loyalty ought to lie, both between them and in the face of it. The things the curse demanded from him … They were almost reasonable, applied to him. They were almost not a horror.

_Almost_. And even that much was dangerous. He knew that. The thing was in his thoughts. It _wanted_ him to think certain ways. In that sense, Attano was almost more dangerous to him than just about anyone else. _Because_ Daud had bowed to him first. Before the curse had ever seized hold. Attano was dangerous _because_ Daud respected him. Because Daud had offered him his throat. The curse could warp that so easily. It might be partway there already. It probably _was_ partway there already. And _that_ was a horror.

Just … not as much of one. As it would have been towards anyone else.

And that might be why Thomas was worried. It might be what _Thomas_ was most afraid of. That Daud had already bowed. That Daud had already … let it in too far. Just because it was Attano. That he was already a puppet, whether he realised it or not.

But there wasn’t anything they could do. The thing was in his thoughts. No one could reach it there except him, and he had … he had to be aware enough to fight it. He had to catch what it was doing as it did it, and have the strength to do something about it back. Attano made that worse. There was little enough he asked that wasn’t dictated by circumstance, or that was enough against Daud’s nature for Daud to catch it in time.

Except the Whalers. Except them. Attano could ask just about anything of Daud, but _not them_. The only times Daud had realised fully what he was doing had been … had been in relation to them. He’d dared the full weight of the curse’s vengeance for them. 

If he’d managed to send them away …

But they weren’t _safe_ here. Fuck. Which way around was the curse trying to steer him? Which way around was he trying to steer _himself_?

“We’d have killed him,” Thomas said softly. Interrupting … Interrupting what was likely a panic attack. Daud blinked, and snapped his head up to look at him. Thomas stared back. Some of the same gaunt, gaping horror lurking in his expression. He set his jaw and nodded grimly at Daud. “If it had been Burrows, we’d have killed him for you. You wouldn’t have had to ask it. And … And we’ll kill Attano too. If you need it. If it does come to it. Breed or no breed. We _will not leave you chained_. I promise, sir.”

It … wasn’t good. That Thomas could see enough of Daud’s horror in his face to offer that reassurance. None of this was fucking _good_. But …

“He doesn’t deserve it,” he said quietly. Because it was true. Whether motivated by the curse or not, it was still true. “It wasn’t him. He doesn’t deserve to pay for it.”

Thomas’ mouth twisted. “Maybe,” he said. “But people don’t get what they deserve, sir. They get what they _fight_ for. And I don’t fight for Attano. I fight for _you_. If I wind up having to kill him for that … then I’ll bear the consequences gladly.”

Baldly stated. Blunt as the face of a hammer. _How_ had the Empress borne this? What the fuck were you supposed to _do_ with a loyalty like that?

“… If you don’t go now, I don’t know if this thing will let me get you out later,” he warned. Rasped. Because they deserved _something_. Anything that wasn’t this. Thomas smiled crookedly. Leonid huffed, and punched Daud lightly in the shoulder.

“We weren’t planning to leave anyway,” she admitted blithely. As blunt as Thomas and more so. As reassuring. “No matter what you said. So you might as well finish your breakfast, sir. That part was sorted before you ever woke up.”

Daud stared at her. And then he laughed faintly. Just put his head in his hand and laughed.

“Maybe I would,” he said drily. Looking up at her. And then pointedly down at his sausage-less plate. “But it looks like someone’s managed _that_ for me as well.”

She winced a little. And then shrugged. Grinning sheepishly.

“Quick hands rule?” she tried. And ducked gleefully when he pinged a fork at her head. “Hey! You taught us that one! I don’t know why it’s suddenly my fault!”

“Shut up,” he growled. “And find me something to eat that isn’t a fucking _toast triangle_, will you?”

“But sir,” Thomas said. Prim and proper and entirely too gleeful. “You’re living in Dunwall Tower, sir. Silk sheets and everything. You ought to eat like a noble too, shouldn’t you?”

Daud stared at him. “I _will_ stab you,” he said. 

Thomas nodded agreeably. “Yes sir. Of course, sir. Shall I find you a rotten pear and some hagfish, then, sir?”

Daud glared. “Sure. You can take a swim in the Wrenhaven while you’re at it. Get it all fresh.”

Thomas beamed at him. “See? You’re sounding just like them already!”

And if he kept _that_ up, it wouldn’t be the curse that anyone needed saving from. Daud could tell him that right now, and with malice aforethought.

But it was nice. To hear them laugh. Which was probably why they’d _done_ it, but he still had to allow it. It was good to see them playful.

It was good to know they hadn’t been crushed by circumstances just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm still stuck on the loyalty thing. Ah. My apologies?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily accidentally guilts everyone, Corvo politely refuses aid for everyone's sake but his own, and the subject of Delilah is finally broached (if only just)

It was late afternoon by the time Attano showed back up again. Daud wasn’t sure if that was because the Lord Protector had been attempting to fulfil his own duties in the meantime, or if the man had just been flat on his face and unconscious that long. 

Honestly, it would have been more than due, if it was the latter. But given the man’s sheer pig-headedness, he wasn’t going to rule out the former either.

Either way, by the time he _did_ show up, Daud had managed to get his Whalers arranged into a decent communications and supply chain around the Tower, with several cadres outside the grounds but within summoning distance, and had also caved to Thomas’ bleak-eyed expression long enough to let Leon poke at him and assure his second that _yes_, he actually was still broadly in one piece. And then caved further to some more food and a healing bonecharm anyway, because the lack of masks in the Tower had apparently significantly damaged his ability to say no to people.

Or possibly just Thomas, specifically, but Leonid and a returned Fisher weren’t that much easier either. At least Leon had _always_ been a broad-shouldered ox of a man who was damn near impossible to argue with. Not if you wanted to remain conscious long enough to make an escape attempt, anyway. The Whaler medic lacked Sokolov’s sadism, but he more than made up for it with pragmatic ruthlessness and a surprisingly deft hand with a sleeping dart.

Daud briefly considered trying to set him on Attano. For the man’s own good. It couldn’t go worse than Sokolov, after all. But that was a disaster in the making if he’d ever thought of one, and neither Leon nor Attano really deserved it.

Though he did have to reconsider that when Leonid opened the door and they took in the state of the man on the other side of it. 

And it was Leonid. Of _course_ it was Leonid.

“… You look _worse_,” she blurted, while Attano blinked myopically at her from the corridor. “How do you look _worse_? I thought you were going to get some sleep?!”

Said with all the blurted concern of a woman who _hadn’t_ tried to knife him the night before. Attano wasn’t the only one staring at her in baffled bemusement. Fisher hastily stifled a snort, and Thomas just buried his face in both palms. Daud resisted an urge to rub at his own temples.

Before he could comment, though, or Attano could attempt to answer, another voice piped up from the corridor behind the man. And Daud and every Whaler in the room went as stiff and still as if they’d been shot at.

“I told him he should have stayed in bed,” Emily Kaldwin, _Empress of the Isles_, agreed darkly, stepping up beside her father and poking him chidingly in the side. She crossed her arms and scowled disgruntledly up at Leonid. Who stared back, petrified. “He’s tired, and Dr. Sokolov told him to rest, and _I_ told him to take a day off, but nooo. He’s just going to make himself _sick_ because someone might kidnap me again while he’s sleeping.”

Which was … a genuinely legitimate concern, given the past half year or so. It was a serious concern that probably did not deserve to be thrown out so lightly by an imperious ten-year-old in a snit. But her annoyance was creaking over genuine upset. And Daud honestly had seen _weepers_ who looked healthier than Attano right now.

None of which distracted much from the fact that Attano had brought his _Empress_ to meet them. For … for whatever reason.

The man closed his eyes. Just for a second. And rested his hand gently on his daughter’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, Emily,” he rasped gently. “I did rest. And I’ll rest some more later. I promise. There’s just some things that need to be seen to. I won’t be long.”

She squinted fiercely at him. Entirely unconvinced. But it was evidently an argument she’d given up on winning directly, at least with her father himself. So she huffed, and turned to glare at Leonid instead.

“I don’t see why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she grumbled. “But okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” This to Leonid. “Is Daud there? I need to talk to him before I go to my lessons.”

Leonid opened her mouth. Still mostly frozen. “Um.”

Daud sighed heavily, and climbed to his feet. “I’m here,” he called, moving up to gently steer Leonid to one side. “My apologies, Empress. What can I do for you?”

Her expression faltered as she looked up at him. A flicker of fear or caution went across her, her shoulders tightening. Daud winced, but she was already moving past it. She’d already squared her shoulders and braced her feet as she glared up at him.

“Corvo wants to talk to you,” she said bluntly. Only slightly belligerently. “I have to go to a lesson. He’s not allowed to do anything exciting, okay? I’m going to come back in an hour, and he’s going to be _here_, and he’s going to be _fine_. Right?”

Someone made a noise behind Daud. A choked, muffled sound, like someone had stuffed a hand in their mouth to stop hysteria. Behind _Emily_, Attano looked torn between glaring at the lot of them, Daud particularly, and looking despairingly at the ceiling. But Emily …

She looked stubborn. And belligerent. And _scared_. Genuinely worried. Still petrified for her idiot of a father.

“… On my life,” Daud heard himself say. Entirely seriously. “We’ll return him to you in good order, Empress. My word on it.”

They could manage an hour without stabbing him. Or getting stabbed. Surely.

She blinked up at him. Slightly taken aback. At the seriousness, maybe. The genuine oath. Behind her, Attano had gone quite still. But Daud didn’t falter, didn’t let himself, and after a moment her shoulders eased a little. She glanced down, and rubbed her nose sheepishly.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. Um. Thank you.” She looked up again. “Are you … Um. Are you all right? Here, I mean? Do you … need anything?”

Offered like he was an actual guest in her house, and not a man who’d murdered her mother and then magically bound himself to her father. Daud stared at her for a long second. And then shook his head slowly.

“We’re fine,” he managed roughly. “Thank you.”

She glanced behind him, as though to check who might be listening, before lowering her voice slightly to ask: “Are you sure? After … after the thing? Last night? You’re sure you’re all right?”

Daud had half a terrified second to wonder if Attano had told her _everything_, up to and including people trying to kill him and the consequences thereof, before he remembered that she hadn’t reacted fearfully to the Whalers, only him, and that she’d seen the curse in action herself.

And that she probably wouldn’t be asking if he was okay if she _had_ been told the full truth.

“… I’m sure,” he rasped, even more thickly. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

She scrunched her face dubiously at him. Eyeing him as sceptically as she’d eyed her father. But it seemed she was only able to fight one hopeless cause this afternoon, and it was already standing beside her. She gave up, let that stand, and turned back to Attano.

Who just looked at her, that patient, proud expression on his face, until she made a choked sound of frustration and grabbed him around the waist. 

“_One hour_,” she growled, into his stomach. “Then we’re going back to sleep. Okay?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders, heavy and gentle. “Everything will be fine, Emily,” he said quietly. “It’s all right. Let’s not keep Callista waiting. I don’t think she’s happy with me as it stands.”

His daughter leaned back to snort at him. “Yeah, well. Maybe if you didn’t snore your way through morning lessons, she’d be less upset. You could have just stayed in bed.”

Attano shrugged easily. “The couch was comfortable.”

And, presumably, he’d been close enough to his daughter that any attempt to harm her would have woken him. Catnapping. Like the boat back from the lighthouse. No wonder he still looked like something scraped off the floor of a refinery tank.

For fuck’s sake. Exactly how long was the idiot planning to keep this up? 

The Empress looked to entirely agree with Daud’s train of thought. He was starkly reminded of her expression the night before, trying to explain to her father that what the Loyalists had done had been wrong. Not _just_ the poisoning part. This morning clearly hadn’t gone much better. But she didn’t bother arguing any more now. She just shook her head tiredly at him, and leaned in to hug him again. Attano’s expression faltered a bit, and he hugged her back.

“I won’t be long,” he promised. Somewhat ashamedly. “Don’t worry, Emily.”

She huffed, and turned to look at Daud. One arm still around her father’s waist.

“_One hour_,” she said again. Presumably in the hopes that Daud, at least, would actually listen. “He’s going to be _here_, and he’s going to be _fine_.”

Leonid snorted beside Daud. Getting her voice back, while Daud was still fumbling for his. “Not to worry,” she said. “We can feed him too, if you want? Your kitchen dropped some stuff up, and we scavenged a few bits more.”

Which was not, Daud reflected, necessarily something they should be _admitting_ to, but the Empress brightened instead of growling.

“Oh good!” she said. “I asked Callista to ask somebody about that, but I don’t think they were sure how many of you were here. I’m glad they sent something, though. We’re going to have to work out something better for the rest of the time you’re here, but today was just … a bit confused. Sorry.”

… Right. So breakfast and lunch had been on the Empress, then. That was … confusing to know.

“… It’s fine,” said Leonid. Something strange and wobbling brightly in her voice. “It was good. We liked the toast triangles especially.”

Daud closed his eyes. Debated finding a window to throw her out of. Emily laughed.

“I kind of missed those,” she confided, leaning a little towards Leonid. “They didn’t have them at the Golden Cat. Well, they did, but they were for paying customers only. I did manage to steal some a few times! But it’s nicer when they come on your plate.”

Leonid’s expression froze a bit. Everyone’s did, really. Daud could hear the sudden, dead silence in the room behind him. No one dared look at Attano. The Empress, still light and relaxed, didn’t seem to notice. She held out her hand to Leonid.

“I’m Emily,” she said, waiting patiently until Leonid unfroze enough to take her hand, and then curtseying shallowly around it. “Nice to meet you …?”

“… Leonid,” Leonid managed. Hoarsely. “Leonid, your majesty.” 

And I didn’t try to knife your father last night. Honest, your majesty. Or help fish him out of a river three days ago and drop him in tank. Or help drop you off with the fucking Pendleton brothers six months ago, either. Though that actually _hadn’t_ been Leonid. She hadn’t been on the Empress job. Probably fortunately. Emily might have recognised her voice otherwise.

What the fuck were they doing here? _Honestly_.

“Nice to meet you, Leonid,” the Empress said obliviously. _Hopefully_ obliviously. 

Attano put his hands on her shoulders again. Steered her gently backwards. Daud chanced a look towards his face, but if he’d been holding any grudges towards any of them, towards Daud or Leonid or anyone else, they weren’t immediately apparent. He smiled tiredly down at his daughter.

“Go on, Emily,” he murmured. “Callista’s waiting. I’ll see you in an hour, all right?”

She squinted up at him. Suspiciously. But shrugged, and turned to wave at … mostly Leonid, Daud thought. Not him. But she waved at _them_, and moved off down the corridor.

Not too far down the corridor, he noted. Just to the study, actually. The woman from last night was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring across at them suspiciously. So. Attano still wanted her in screaming distance, then. Just in case. Daud probably couldn’t fault him for that.

And it probably meant that _Attano_ wasn’t planning to do anything that would cause screaming, at least. Not with his daughter in earshot. So there was that.

And then the door closed behind the Empress, and the Lord Protector turned back to face them.

“… I can put a couple of mine on to watch her, if you like,” Daud managed finally. After what felt like a small eternity of them just staring at each other, while Leonid quivered faintly beside him. He held up his left hand slightly in offer. “On the branching corridor. They won’t be seen.”

Attano hesitated. He had no reason to trust them, of course. They’d tried to _kill him_ just last night. But he thought about it for a long second. And then … slumped. Just slightly.

“If you would,” he said tiredly. “Curnow’s going through the guards with a fine-toothed comb over the next few days, but there’s no real way to tell just yet. An extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. If they’re willing.”

“I’ll go,” said Fisher, coming up behind Daud. Sounding a little subdued. She _had_ been on the Empress job. Briefly. She’d been the one carrying a bleeding, half-dead Rulf back to base. “Pull Kieron down off the tower for me, sir, and we’ll get set up?”

Daud grimaced faintly, but nodded. He shuffled through the Bond until he found the presence that said Kieron and _pulled_. The Whaler landed in the corridor beside Attano. Who did not move. Did not so much as flinch. Kieron made a small noise and shuffled hurriedly back from him, before looking worriedly at Daud.

Fisher pushed past him before he could try explaining anything, squeezing out the doorway and taking Kieron by the arm. “Come on, Kee,” she said casually. “We’re on guard duty. Keep up.”

Kieron did not look any more enlightened. But he followed her gamely enough.

Attano watched them go. A … A very odd expression on his face. Then he turned back to Daud, and said quietly: “Thank you.”

Daud flinched. And waved him hurriedly into the room.

“I’ll expect to be getting paid for it,” he growled. From a lack of anything better to say. He stalked back over to the breakfast table to sit beside Thomas. Who did not look appreciative, either of the words or the manoeuvre. 

Attano drifted in past Leonid, almost silently, and closed the door softly behind him. He glanced around at the four of them, hesitating slightly over the unknown figure of Leon, before looking back to Daud. He looked wary, but only mildly so. About resting standard, for a man of his background and recent experiences. Daud was just beginning to wonder if the man actually remembered the previous night at all, when Attano opened his mouth.

“You worked that out, then?” he asked mildly. Flicking a small glance towards Thomas, and an even tinier nod. “You came to an agreement?”

Right. So he remembered _something_, then.

Daud squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at his temples for a moment. It was Thomas who leaned forward and answered. After some hesitation.

“Yes,” he said. Quietly, and with a sorrowful glance at Daud. “If the offer’s still open, Lord Protector.”

Attano sighed, and scrubbed at his face. He glanced around, looking for somewhere to sit, and Leonid stepped forward to pat one of the cots. Hers, possibly. Attano blinked at her, but sat down willingly enough. She perched on the opposite end to him. Leon, the only one left standing, huffed soundlessly to himself, and dropped down onto Thomas’ cot.

“… It’s open,” the Lord Protector said. Staring around at them bemusedly. “It might take some time. We’ve got a meeting with Parliament at the end of the week. Emily will probably be officially coronated not too long after that. While we theoretically have access to the treasury now, and certainly to the Kaldwin’s private monies, it will take until after the coronation and my appointments before anything like salaries and wages can be paid. Though we can … make arrangements now and backpay it after. If you agree to that.”

Which was … sane and practical and calm. And just about the last thing in the world that Daud wanted to be discussing. 

Which was his own fault. He did realise.

“I also …” Attano went on. Slightly hesitant. “I also have about six thousand worth of coin and valuables scavenged from around the city. If you wanted something now. Though, ah. Some of it is from Rudshore. So that … might count more as _re_payment than payment.”

Daud stared at him. “Did you … rob us blind? On your way through Rudshore?”

Attano grimaced sheepishly. “In my defence, you robbed me first. And imprisoned me. And punched me in the head. So … Stolen fair and square?”

Daud stared at him some more.

_Leonid_, though, snorted helplessly to herself. Clapped a hand to her mouth to muffle her giggling. Thomas had an exquisitely pained expression on his face. Even Leon, generally stoic, allowed himself the tiniest chuckle. Just for the sheer … absurdity, Daud supposed. A man sitting down among his enemies and genially discussing options with them. 

Honestly, what the _fuck_ were they doing here?

“… Fair and square,” he agreed finally. More than a little disbelievingly. “Six thousand’s fine. More than fine. I’m not going to ask where the fuck you scavenged it from. Though I suppose I _should_ ask what you want us to do for it.”

Attano tilted his head slightly. Narrowing his eyes in bemusement. “Did we not agree that?” he asked. “Information and a way out of the curse. I thought we decided last night.”

There was a bit of doubt in his voice. Self-doubt. Maybe there was still some question of how much he remembered. He’d been exhausted to the point of nonsense last night. He could be filling in some blanks from context, or trying to. Or uncertain of how much had been honest, maybe, and trying to test it again in the light of day.

Which was why it was … somewhat fairer. To be asking this again now, when the man was theoretically awake enough to answer it properly.

Daud shrugged. Waved a hand at the door. At the pair of his people standing guard over an Empress. “Wondered if you’d thought more about it, is all,” he said. “Had a few specifics in mind, or anything.”

Attano blinked. Thoughtfully. 

“You’d know your business better than me,” he said quietly. Honestly, if cautiously. “I hadn’t thought to interfere. As Emily said, today is … confused. We’ll be back to firmer standing soon enough. Information will do more than well enough. And … freedom. Hopefully.”

There was something in his voice there. At _freedom_. Some creak of a thing. It … made sense. For a man who’d been captive so many times recently. He’d slept on the knowledge of the curse, clearly. And hadn’t woken up any happier with it.

Well. Daud had that much in common with him, then.

“Oh, we’ll be working on freedom, don’t you worry,” he said, low and _adamant_. As fervent an oath as any he’d ever offered. And then, because he couldn’t quite help himself, out of what he desperately hoped was his own aversion to stupidity and not some influence of the curse: “You’re not planning to stand guard on your own the entire time, are you? The girl had a point. You look like something scraped off a slaughterhouse floor.”

Attano blinked at him for a second. Offended, apparently. Narrow-eyed and with the beginnings of anger. For the comment on his work ethic, Daud would guess, not his appearance. For the comment on his ability to defend his daughter. That was apparently _not_ for Daud to comment on.

Tension thrummed. A stir of something idle in Daud’s blood. Just to remind him it was there. But then Leonid stuck her oar in, once again.

“I told you you looked worse,” she said, risking life and limb to poke Attano gingerly in the arm. “Seriously. You look like you haven’t slept at _all_.”

“That can happen,” Leon offered idly. In his harsh, steady voice. “If the body runs a long time without rest, and then gets only a taste of it, it can make the previous lack more obvious. It’s only natural. If relief is offered, the body wants to take as much advantage as possible. If you deprive it, it gets upset. It’s part of why you can feel worse healing than you did getting injured.”

Which was more of an explanation than he usually gave _them_, preferring to simply knock them out until it was no longer an issue, but Daud supposed that even Leon had to hesitate at the prospect of trying to sleep dart _Corvo Attano_.

Who was glancing between them, now. His expression had shifted, beginning to look more henpecked and besieged than angry. And baffled. As if this was not at all the attack he had expected from this quarter, and the switch as much as anything else was bewildering him.

Which was … not entirely unreasonable. Given last night. Though Daud had to admit to some dark enjoyment of the fact. They were wrongfooted enough around Attano, after all. It was somewhat nice to return the favour.

“… It doesn’t matter,” the man managed finally. “I’ll catch up eventually. For now, Emily is more important. We’re going to be more vulnerable these next few days than the crown has ever been before, and anyone with ambition in the city is going to realise it. I’ll catch up once Curnow has the guard straightened out, and we have something resembling an interim government.”

And … he probably would too. He’d probably last exactly that long, and with exactly the amount of force and persuasion necessary. The Lord Protector was not a man who needed much in the way of health and aid to do his duty to terrifying effect. As both conspiracies had found out, and several other people besides. His presence alone, even semi-conscious if it came to it, would likely be more than enough deterrent for most.

And Daud really, _really_ wished he knew why the thought sat uneasily with him. Whether it was the curse warping his thoughts, or simply … 

Simply the intimate view of the aftermath of something he’d done. The close-up understanding of everyone left struggling and scrambling in his wake, trying to glue back together some security after he and his had torn right through it. Whether it was just the fact that he was _here_, stuck here, unable to leave, and captive audience to every pained effort Attano and his daughter had to make just to get back up on their feet.

It … It was both, probably. But for once, Daud thought more the latter than the former.

“… We can help,” he rasped. With heavy, pained reluctance. “While we’re here. If you want.” He waved a hand at the air. “Fill gaps, until Curnow gets things up and running. Like now.”

There was a distinct air of uncertainty about his Whalers for that one. A definite thread of worry. It was, after all, more or less a direct reverse of their usual jobs. But none of them protested.

Attano might, though. He stared narrowly at Daud. Startled, at first, and then suspicious. As wary as he’d ever been. Which was sad, in many ways. He’d been more confident faced with two knives. With an entire army of guards and overseers between him and a lighthouse. But they’d been a threat to _him_, Daud supposed. This was a … Potentially, it was a threat to his daughter. People Attano did not remotely trust, pledged even temporarily to her protection. This was another question altogether.

Except that Fisher and Kieron were already out there. Except that he’d already _allowed_ it, even the once. Daud … wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

“Is this …” Attano started. _Extremely_ carefully. Leaning forward slightly to look at Daud, his expression still narrow and thoughtful. “Is this offered willingly?” 

He paused, while Daud reared back a little. While Daud _bristled_. But did not stop.

“I know you regret Jessamine. And I know you have no choice but to stay. But you have offered … If I remember last night correctly, you have offered twice now to … involve yourself here. Even visibly. To be _known_ to serve here. I cannot help but think that that … would not be something you would normally do. You do not seem a man to bind himself willingly. Even temporarily.”

That was not … That was wrong. It was wrong. Daud hadn’t meant it that way. Not …

He did remember last night. He hadn’t been sensible, but his memory was as clear as ever. He hadn’t offered to bind himself. He’d offered a _justification_, a reasoning, if _Attano_ chose to make use … If Attano chose to use them openly. Or had no choice, because Daud’s presence would inevitably be discovered, and his Whalers along with him. The Tower was not so big that an entire order of assassins could go unremarked forever in its confines. Sooner or later Attano would need a reason for their presence. So Daud had offered one. A potential one. That had been _all_ he’d offered. Or all he’d _thought_ he’d offered.

But he had … offered it readily. So very readily. Offered to be Attano’s fist, as he had been Burrows’, only openly. So that people could look and _see_ what knowledge, what threat Attano held against them. And that … was a point. That was _not_ … something he would normally do. Not without qualification. Not without trying to find another option, or even waiting to see if any of them would be required.

He’d been desperate. He’d been trying to keep his people with him. He’d been half-upright, still shaking with the curse’s aftermath. He’d been offering justifications for the liberties he’d assumed Attano would try to take. The liberties he’d assumed _anyone_ would take.

And it had been _Attano_, even then, even only half-sensible and dubiously conscious himself, who’d tried to waylay and sidestep the issue for them both. 

Daud stared at him now. His breath coming short and sharp in his chest. Not the curse. Not directly. Something else. 

Attano grimaced. His expression curdled. Something cold and hard coming across it.

“Perhaps,” he said softly. “Perhaps it would be best not to discuss … other services. Even those I would pay you for. Those I would _thank_ you for. Information … is a business. It is bought and sold. And the curse is a matter for us both. But anything else … anything else I fear would be something else. Or could _become_ something else.”

“… _Fuck_,” Leonid whispered. Her hands curled into fists in her lap. Thomas didn’t comment, though. He’d already had this thought. Daud knew he had.

And so, apparently, had Attano.

The man ducked his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. Exhaustedly. Such a wealth of weariness in his voice. “I do … thank you for the offer. If any part of it was meant genuinely. But … if any of it wasn’t. I don’t think this is something we should chance. For both … For both our and Emily’s sake.”

Because people drafted unwillingly did not make the best bodyguards. Because resentment bred … willful incompetence at best. The likes of Burrows at worst. Yes. It was a concern.

Daud closed his eyes. Exhausted himself. Just by the man’s presence.

“I don’t … think today was the curse,” he said tiredly. “Last night … possibly. It’s hard to remember entirely what I was thinking. But today was … I don’t think so. Not … Not towards her.” He sighed, and opened his eyes. “I can’t fault the caution, though. I should probably thank you for it.”

Attano looked away. Clenched his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I can … feel this thing. But only … only enough to doubt myself. Only enough to wonder if it’s gratitude I’m feeling or … something else. If I’m accepting an offer in good faith or … taking advantage.”

His voice was thin. Vehement. Twisted with revulsion. Daud … laughed. A rough chuckle. He didn’t entirely mean to. It just sprang out of him.

“I know the feeling,” he said, when Attano’s head snapped towards him. Rough and _blackly_ amused. “You don’t help. Or your daughter. I told you before. Something … did break. When I killed your Empress. Something crept in. Weakness. More than enough for a curse to use. But that’s … that’s my fault. Not yours.”

Attano stared at him. For the longest moment. His face twisted.

“Remorse should not be a weakness,” he said quietly. “Not like _this_. I … I know that it is. That anything soft in Dunwall right now is a weakness. But it shouldn’t be. Of all of them, you were the only one I left alive out of something other than vengeance. Because you were the only one who offered it, or anything close. It should … have a better answer than _this_.” 

That was … such a window, Daud thought. Such a view into the heart of the man. Remorse should have a better answer than this. _Weakness_ should have a better answer than this. Than punishment. _Void_. And this man had survived Coldridge.

“… You’re an idealist,” he said, with something close to wonder. “Even … Even _still_. Fuck. How have you survived this long?”

Attano tilted his head. Something flickered in his expression. Startlement? Bemusement? But then a small smile curled his lips. A dark, exhausted little thing.

“Spite and stubbornness, mostly,” he murmured. Eyes distant. Remembering. “People like Burrows destroy themselves eventually. Sooner or later. It’s just a matter of how many hundreds they kill first. How much they tear apart. You just … survive them. For as long as you can. Outlast them. And then, when the window opens … take them down.”

Them, and only them. The vengeance of a merciful man. Or the _justice_, maybe. Backed by such a blade, maybe it wasn’t weakness after all.

Daud wondered if it had been a better or worse thing to face. For Burrows. Or any of them. A madman with a sword, or the noose of their own sins slowly drawing closed. In his case … he would have said worse. Before. 

He wasn’t sure now. And not just for reasons of the curse.

Attano looked back at him. Focused again. The man the Loyalists had thrown out, over and over and over again, into the teeth of whatever Dunwall had to offer. The man who’d looked at each and every obstacle, just like this, and triumphed anyway.

“I mean to outlast this as well,” he said softly. “Both of us. Leave Emily to me. The Empire. That’s my duty. You take the witch. Anything you can find. _Find me a window_. And I promise, when we’re done, we can make whatever choices seem fit to both of us.”

And that was the worst thing, Daud thought. Easily the worst thing. That it was likely the curse. That he couldn’t trust his own thoughts.

But it would be so easy to offer loyalty anyway. Just to a man like this.

“… We have a lead,” he rasped. Looking away. Looking to Thomas, just to avoid Attano. “Or … a potential one. I … meant to talk to you about it. There are … witches in Dunwall. The remains of a coven. We made their acquaintance recently. To their detriment. They might be able to tell us something. But there are … a few things you should know.”

Thomas met his gaze. Such a strange expression on his face. But he nodded slightly. Loyalty and reassurance. Offered willingly. 

“… The one you mentioned last night?” Attano asked. Cautiously. “Delilah?”

Daud looked back at him. Another black laugh bubbling in his throat.

“Delilah,” he agreed. Darkly and easily. “We should talk about Delilah. She had … designs you should probably know about. Before we bring anything of hers here.”

Another test of the man’s mercy. His forbearance in the face of provocation. Could he bear to use anything of hers, Daud wondered, once he knew? To free Daud? Even to free himself?

But he’d bet on it. Suddenly. He’d bet on the man’s determination in the face of quite a lot of things.

Witches and curses not least of all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Delilah, and unwanted apologies, and other conversational agonies

For a moment, while Attano sat there patiently on Leonid’s cot, Daud considered how to go about this. How to tell a man that his daughter, the daughter he’d already lost and regained twice over, had come within minutes of being used as a skin puppet by a mad witch. Whether to try and … spare him, somewhat, ease him into it, or just to rip the thing up of a piece and let the man swallow it as best he could. As much as a thing like that could be swallowed at all.

It wasn’t something he’d normally do. Fumble around trying to spare someone. Daud was not by nature a gentle man. But Attano …

No. But Attano nothing. There really was no point, was there? Attano would react how he would react, and there was no hoping to ease _that_ blow. They’d pay the prices when it came to it. But there was no point dithering now.

“Her name was Delilah Copperspoon,” he said roughly. Watching the pale, tired interest on the man’s face. “I’d never heard of her. I’d never have come across her at all. But in the wake—In the wake of your Empress’ death, the black-eyed bastard wanted me to do something for him.”

He couldn’t quite help the flinch as he said it. Not least … Not least because of the horror still presumably tucked into the man’s chest. The voice …

He wondered briefly if he should apologise to her. Directly. Since she was apparently still there to listen to it, at least to some warped extent. But _void_, Daud had no idea how to go about that. Or if there was any point in even trying. 

On the scale of things it was useless to apologise for, successfully murdering someone probably was pretty close to the top.

And it wasn’t the point right now. He laid it hastily aside.

“She was a witch. The leader of a coven known as the Brigmore Witches. We didn’t know that at the time. All the Outsider gave us was her name. It took … most of the six months to track her down. A lot of false leads and being led around. It was at least a distraction, I suppose. Kept us out of Burrows’ way. But we finally got a lead. Started trying to trace it. Unfortunately, she’d noticed us looking for her. She didn’t appreciate the interference in her affairs.”

As witches were wont to do. As Daud would have expected, if he’d listened with any real ear to his mother’s advice. But the end had been nigh from the moment the Empress died at his hands. It hadn’t really felt that much of a betrayal. He’d been on the way down anyway.

As … more than one of his people had figured out.

“She suborned my second,” he said quietly. Unable to quite mask the roughness of it. Unsure, too, why he was bothering to tell _Attano_ this part. Beside him, a muscle ticked in Thomas’ jaw. Leon and Leonid sat cold and quiet. “They led the Overseers right to us. I think … I’m fairly sure you passed the evidence of that on your way through Rudshore.”

There’d been enough bodies left lying around. Mostly from Franklin’s later assault, rather than Hume’s or Daud’s, but they’d all stemmed from the same place. Attano would have passed a few dead Overseers on his travels. Nobody had been much in the mood to clear them up.

Nor were they in the mood to listen to condemnation for it now. But Attano … didn’t offer any. If he had any comments of that nature, he kept them to himself. Instead …

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. _Genuinely_. 

For the betrayal, Daud realised a moment later. After a small moment wondering what in the blue void _Attano_ might be sorry for. But then he remembered. That Attano had … some small experience with being betrayed by those close to him. Into the hands of … Well. Campbell had helped torture him, hadn’t he? Attano had some experience being betrayed to Overseers too. And by them. Enough to offer even assassins something that looked like genuine sympathy for it.

Daud wasn’t in the mood to deal with that either. So he ignored it, and moved ahead.

“You were out by the time we finally tracked her down,” he said. “Well out. We had to take a quick jaunt through Coldridge’s new security in your wake. Our transport had gotten herself arrested. You left some lovely holes in their defences. And some very annoyed people behind you.”

And a guard on the brink of being executed. But Daud didn’t mention that one. He had an inkling that Attano would take it badly. And it hadn’t happened anyway.

Attano still winced, though. His shoulders hunched. “I don’t actually remember much of that,” he admitted softly. Almost a whisper. “The escape. I didn’t have powers yet. I didn’t know who’d sent me a key, or what their plans were. Just that I had to get out. It was … tense. I remember trying not to be seen. The explosion. And … jumping off the bridge.”

Like an absolute lunatic. Or a very desperate man. Coldridge tended to have that effect on people.

He wondered if he should introduce the man to Lizzy some time. They could compare notes. It was … an oddly enchanting idea. In a teeth-and-explosions sort of way. Attano handled so many things with ready equanimity. Daud did wonder how he’d handle Lizzy.

His boatman might disapprove, though. Assuming the _boatman_ didn’t know Lizzy.

Anyway. Getting sidetracked. Delilah. No more stalling.

“Didn’t matter, in the end,” he said roughly. “We got her out, and got our boat. Delilah was upriver. Brigmore Manor. We got there in the end. And when we did … we realised, finally, why the black-eyed bastard had an interest in her. Why he’d set me on her in the first place.”

The bastard must have been watching … so much, to get to that point. Watching Daud, watching Delilah. Watching the Empress. Jessamine Kaldwin. Burrows and the Doom of Pandyssia. What a lovely melting pot of upcoming horror they must all have been. Two separate conspiracies, one armed with plague and death, the other with magic and madness, converging on one … one family. One set of relative innocents, about to be torn apart.

No wonder they’d drawn his eyes. No wonder Attano bore his mark. No better or worse placed sorry bastard could there have been.

And he didn’t even know it, yet. He didn’t know. But he would shortly.

“She was one of his,” Daud said. Hard and harsh, to tide them both through it. “She was a witch, and Marked, and very angry. Mad, too, in the worst way. And she was targeting your Empress.” He paused, just briefly, for Attano to digest that. Or try to. “Jessamine first, possibly, but if so, she had to change plans when I … when I killed her. Maybe that’s why she took my interference so badly. She might have assumed I’d been on to her longer. But the time I reached her, she’d switched her focus entirely onto …”

“… Onto _Emily_,” Attano finished. Oh, so slowly. So very, very dangerously. Daud flinched faintly. Right. He’d digested it, then. “She … meant to harm Emily?”

Daud grimaced. Harm, yes. Oh, this was going to be painful. But there was no way out but through. Better to have it over with.

“She meant to possess Emily,” he said baldly. “Permanently. She had a ritual. Her powers … She could paint things. People. And use it to possess them. She had … some of Emily’s hair. A painting of her. She meant to … crawl under the girl’s skin. I don’t know if that … if it would have destroyed Emily, or just imprisoned her, but … Delilah would have been the one in control. Either way. She meant to rule, to take her place as Empress, and … rule from the body of your …”

Daughter. Rule from the body of your _daughter_. But self-preservation cut the word off before it could come out. It wasn’t needed, anyway. Attano had more than gotten the picture.

He was _still_. So fucking still. His eyes wide and staring, his nostrils flaring slightly. Coiled, tension on tension, a spring wound to breaking. Leonid, sitting next to him, leaned as far away from him as possible. As slowly as she could, to avoid drawing his eye or his ire. Daud wished he’d gotten her to move before he’d started this. Wished she’d had the _sense_ to move when he’d started this. He hadn’t felt this level of raw … raw lethality from the man since the moment …

Well. The moment he’d bared his throat to him, and felt his whole life balance precariously on the edge of Attano’s blade. Or the conversation last night. The first one, when the curse had been riding them both so powerfully, and death or worse had been on the cards every passing moment.

He was such a dangerous thing to provoke. Lord Corvo Attano. Daud had known from the start that Delilah would be where his mercy ran out.

“… Explain,” the man whispered. A soft, crushed voice. An echo of last night, all right. Daud grimaced again.

“I can’t,” he said roughly. “I don’t know how it works any more than you. All I know is what I saw when I arrived there. What I heard of her plans. She meant to rule the Empire. She meant to possess Emily to do it. That’s all I can tell you.”

Would he have noticed, Daud wondered. Attano. If Delilah had been successful. Would he have realised that something had happened to his daughter? From what Daud had seen of Emily, the scared, gentle, occasionally imperious girl who’d spared him last night, spoken easily with his Whalers this morning … her personality was nothing that could ever be mistaken for Delilah’s. Would her father have realised that it wasn’t her? That someone else was looking out at him from behind his daughter’s eyes?

Or would he have thought it a result of everything she’d seen the past few months. Her mother’s murder. Her imprisonment in a brothel. Her _father’s_ attempted murder. Betrayal after betrayal. Would Delilah’s murderousness have seemed … just a consequence of too much violence? A gentle personality warped by betrayal?

Maybe he would have been safer, if so. Attano was a dangerous thing for Delilah to leave alive. Even unmarked, he would have been difficult. With enough power to challenge her, if he’d noticed something, she’d have killed him quick as anything. Being any way observant would have been an instant death sentence. Though, if he hadn’t …

If he hadn’t, maybe she’d have killed him down the line anyway. And left him thinking he’d have gone to his death at his _daughter’s command_.

Fuck. All right. Maybe not better there.

(What would have happened, he also couldn’t help but wonder, if Burrows and he hadn’t managed to pre-empt her? If fate had turned differently and her coup had landed before his. What would have happened if she’d decided and had a chance to possess _Jessamine_? Attano had been … had been her lover. What could a witch like Delilah have done with _that_?)

Attano stood up. Suddenly, silently. He put one hand down onto the blankets to push himself to his feet, and Daud instantly, instinctively, yanked Leonid to him through the Bond. Raw instinct. Attano moved, and Daud pulled her across the room away from him.

It wouldn’t help. It wasn’t as though it was a big fucking room. A few extra feet would make fuck all difference. Not against _him_. But it was just … 

Instinct. It was just instinct.

Attano twitched violently. Angled sharply towards the movement, towards a startled Leonid landing at Daud’s side. Towards Thomas, catching her hurriedly and tugging her behind him, somewhere defensible. His expression creased for a moment, confusion over the bottled lethality, and then …

Then it faltered completely. Slipped into heartbreak. And vanished as he closed his eyes, and struggled to pull himself back under control.

He turned away. Turned his back on all of them. And stood for a long, long moment, panting harshly to himself. A ragged man, so very far past the end of his rope. Threatened at every turn. Kept, every time, from defending himself and those he loved. By imprisonment. By poison. By curses.

And, so many times, just by being too damned late.

Daud winced, and looked away from him. Set his jaw against the unwilling swell of empathy. Was this what it was like to stand next to a throne? To be beholden to it? For fuck’s sake. Three conspiracies had to be enough for one year. Three conspiracies and a fucking curse to top it. Dunwall was a cesspit to be sure, but that had to be excessive, even for here.

It was what happened, though. When you showed weakness. The old Empress … She’d tried to be kind. To guard her citizens, from people like Burrows. People like _him_. Her lover was cut from the same cloth. Her daughter, too. They took too many risks. Bared too many vulnerabilities. Gave too many chances. There was no way that could end except violence. Not here. 

It was enough to make Daud want to hit them. Beat some sense into them. But, irony of fucking ironies, the only reason he’d be alive to do so was _because_ …

Because they were idiots. And noble. And kind. And hadn’t fucking killed him.

“… What happened?” Attano managed finally. Not looking at them, not yet. Still quivering faintly where he stood. “She didn’t … Delilah didn’t succeed. Clearly. What … happened?”

Daud grimaced again. For a different reason, this time.

“… I sabotaged the ritual,” he said anyway. Because there was no point dissembling now. “There was another painting. One of the Void. I owed her. For Billie, for the Overseers. I swapped them out. She’s not … She isn’t dead. But she isn’t anywhere better, either. She’s stuck in there. Probably howling somewhere around the Outsider’s ears. May the both of them enjoy it to the full.”

He wasn’t bitter at all. No sir. He didn’t despise the unhelpful bastard with every bone in his body, not at all. He hoped he and Delilah _enjoyed_ each other. No better pair for it.

It would be more than fair payment, for an utter lack of warning about … _anything_ critical. At all.

Attano turned to him. Slowly. Stiltedly, as though he wasn’t wholly in control of his motion. Daud’s muscles tautened. His chin tipped up. But the expression on Attano’s face wasn’t … wasn’t anything he’d seen before. Wasn’t anything he could translate.

“You stopped her,” the man said. In a very strange, distant tone of voice. Shocky. Daud had to repress a sudden, nonsensical urge to stand up and catch hold of him. Steady him. It wouldn’t work. Even if it wasn’t nonsense. They’d both just wind up on the floor.

“I _owed_ her,” he said again. Stressed, slightly. He didn’t like the look on the man’s face. It was veering towards things he … had no idea how to handle. “She took my second from me. Assaulted my people. I owed her payment for that. It wasn’t … anything else.”

And it hadn’t been. It really, truly hadn’t been. He hadn’t even known Delilah was a threat to Emily before the Manor. Suspected it, maybe, from Draper’s Ward and the Outsider’s involvement, but he hadn’t _known_. Certainly not the _level_ of threat she posed. He’d gone there for the Outsider, first, and then for Billie, for his Whalers, for the sheer outrage of what Delilah’d done to them. Emily hadn’t been a factor. Attano. Not even … Not even Jessamine. Not really. Redemption was a fool’s game. A farce. Pretending to be decent. No.

Rudshore had been better. More honest. A life for a life, a knife for a knife. That Attano had spared him _anyway_ was …

Better. Than the thing on the man’s face now. Cleaner. An honest thing, given freely.

Attano stared at him. For an endless moment, a dozen things lurking behind his stark, staring expression that Daud _desperately_ didn’t want him to say. He’d have stood to try and stop the man. Risked the curse to put a hand over his mouth. But something in Attano’s trembling stillness held him glued to his seat. Everything, yet again, felt balanced on the knife edge of the man’s decisions. Held captive by his will.

And then Attano blinked. Crumbled slightly. And sat back down.

“And now you’re here,” he said softly. Thinly, and with black amusement. “You fought a witch, and saved my … saved Emily from a ritual possession. And now you’re _here_. Chained to me, by …”

By another witch. Another ritual. Bound to the man whose daughter he’d saved. It was a little funny, put like that. In a deeply despairing sort of way.

What was that saying? No good deed goes unpunished?

And to the Void with everything else.

Daud scrubbed a hand across his face. Now that the tension released somewhat. He reached up and scraped his palms across his eyes. Fuck. He didn’t know how much more of this he could handle.

“It would have been you anyway,” he said. Dropping his hands back into his lap. “Even without Delilah. That was … set up long before she became a factor. There’s not exactly a _surfeit_ of people I’d be willing to—She was never a factor there. It’s … a nice irony. That I might have pulled your girl out only to land in it myself. But that wasn’t … anyone’s _plan_.”

Except, just possibly, the black-eyed bastard’s. But Daud was _not thinking that_, because it would be extremely fruitless trying to murder a fucking god.

Attano laughed sharply. A hard, cracked thing. Just on the edges of hysteria. His hands curled into light fists in his lap. Still shaking. Trembling like broad, lethal leaves. He bowed his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. With that quiet fucking honesty. “Truly. I’m sorry.”

Daud’s whole body lurched. He had to restrain an urge to throw himself out the fucking window. This, this was why he _hadn’t told the man_. Not in Rudshore. Not last night.

Was it too much to ask for not _everything_ to be a fucking minefield around here?

“And I’m sorry I murdered the woman you loved and destroyed your entire life in one fell swoop,” he growled back. Angrily. Needing it to be anger. “But here we fucking are!”

Why couldn’t they just have killed him? It would have been so much easier.

Attano pressed his hand to his face. The left. Marked and trembling. He laughed again. A crumpled sort of sound. A pit of rueful despair so deep there was nothing to do but laugh at it. Daud understood completely. He would have joined him, if anger wasn’t a significantly safer emotion right now. Laughter veered too close to crying.

“… Jess would have died a thousand times over to save Em,” the man said. Very softly. Almost an idle note. “It’s not … I know what you’re saying. They were separate actions. It doesn’t change anything. But she … There were always things we valued more. Emily was always one of them. The first of them. Either of us would have done anything, _endured_ anything, to see her safe.”

And Daud … knew that too. He’d _seen_ that too. From both of them. The thousand things Attano had done and endured for his daughter were written across the city and his skin. And the Empress …

The woman had charged an armed, supernatural assassin to try and save her daughter’s life. Shoved an arm against his neck, tried to fling him back from her. While her bodyguard, the most dangerous man in the isles, was held helpless. Knowing it had to be hopeless. She’d still charged. Still tried to drive him back. Made sure the blade was pointed at her first. 

They would … spend their lives for their loyalty. For their love. Both of them.

They _had_.

He looked away. To his left, first, but that just netted him Thomas and Leonid. Poised there, half-petrified, watching him and Attano with wide eyes. The other way would net him Leon. He cast his eyes desperately towards the ceiling instead.

“I didn’t do it to save Emily either,” he rasped carefully. “It was … a happy side effect at best. But I don’t … regret it. That part. Last night, and earlier … Delilah had no right to her. I don’t … regret getting there in time.”

And in a life that had been almost nothing but regret lately, that … said enough. He hoped.

He had no more fucking words left, either way.

Which Attano finally seemed to recognise. Or he had no more words left either. He nodded, shaky and thin. Bowed under. More exhausted than Daud had seen him yet, and that was _saying_ something. Daud would comment, but he felt … somewhat similar himself. Stretched and hollow. Scoured out. It wasn’t physical exhaustion. Or more than just physical exhaustion. And there was nothing to be done for it.

“… So,” the man murmured. Sagging gently where he sat. “What now? What … do you need?”

A do-over for the last seven months of his life, Daud thought desperately. But the man meant something actually _achievable_.

“The coven’s our best shot for witch knowledge in Dunwall,” he rasped, leaning forward and scrubbing his own hand through his hair. “We left enough of them alive. The problem … The problem is that they’re not going to help us willingly. _Either_ of us. Which was … theoretically the point of this whole little exercise in confession. They won’t help me because I destroyed their leader. But they won’t help _you_ because …”

“Because I belong to the Kaldwins,” Attano finished tiredly. “Because they were going to kill me anyway at some point. Because I survived where Delilah didn’t.”

… More or less. And it sounded so pointless when he put it like that.

“We can … work around that,” Thomas ventured hesitantly. To Attano, not Daud. Looking at him with an expression that was still half petrified, and half trying to be reassuring, and all having no void-damned idea what he was doing or feeling when it came to this man. Which was … entirely reasonable, as far as Daud was concerned. “We’ve … worked with uncooperative sources before. If there’s something to be got, we’ll get it. It just … might take time. And … be unpleasant.”

_Unpleasant_. What a nice euphemism. Attano flinched. Thinking of the scars beneath his shirt, maybe. Thinking of all the things he was so unfond of. All the things that Daud and his people had so rarely balked at before. Remembering, maybe, what they _were_.

But then … his jaw set. His shoulders straightened. He looked up, his eyes brown and exhausted and utterly, _utterly_ without qualm. The man behind the Felon’s mask. The man who’d branded Campbell and left him to Dunwall’s non-existent mercy.

The man who had almost, _almost_ killed Daud. Before remorse and mercy stayed his hand.

Delilah had showed none such. And so _earned_ none such.

“I said I wouldn’t interfere,” Attano said softly. “I meant it. You know your work better than me. And this … is more a work against you than me. Do what needs doing. I … will give you what help I can.”

It was … an honest offer. An honest _oath_. Exhaustedly offered, by a man who took his promises seriously. And Daud knew, without even having to look, that Thomas wouldn’t ask him for a damned thing. Not for this. Now or ever. Not even out of pride, this time. Out of …

Not protective instinct. Not exactly. But there were things Attano didn’t need to see. Didn’t need to know had been done. They weren’t the fucking Loyalists. They weren’t sitting on some high horse, pretending around their cowardice, sending someone else out to bloody his soul trying to do the needful for them. They could bloody their own souls just fine. Without any help at all.

Not that _Thomas_ would be bloodying his own soul either. Not if Daud could get there first. It wouldn’t make much difference to him, really. At this point, what were a few more stains?

“… Thank you, sir,” said Thomas. Uneven and uneasy, watching Attano like the man might stab him. Like he half _wished_ the man would stab him. Unconscious of his instinctive respect. _Sir_, he said. All unnerved. Daud couldn’t blame him at all.

Attano waved that tiredly aside. Like it was a ridiculous thing to be thanking him for. Thomas made a half-stifled noise of despair.

“_Food_,” said Leonid. Abruptly, behind Thomas. Piping up for the first time in … what honestly felt like hours. Daud’s second jumped in his seat. He wasn’t alone. Every head in the room swivelled towards her. Attano blinking like an owl. She hunched, grimacing around at them, but planted her feet stubbornly. “We promised we’d feed him, right? If we’re sorted for now, we should do that. If we’re … talking about keeping promises.”

… Well. Daud supposed they were, at that. Though he had to wonder if trying to feed people was her response to _every_ trying conversation. He couldn’t … remember whether he’d seen that behaviour before, or if it was only recently. Only here.

Maybe it was just her response to _cursed_ people having trying conversations.

Leon snorted from Daud’s other side. Clapping his hands on his knees and levering himself ponderously to his feet. “Girl has a point,” he said idly. “If the man’s not going to sleep, he should at least eat. And you could go another round with that charm, too.” Looking at Daud. “Better safe than sorry, after all.”

Daud blinked a bit. And then gave him the stink-eye. For fuck’s sake.

“You examined me yourself,” he growled exasperatedly. “_At length_. I’m as fine as I’m going to get, and you know it.”

Leon shrugged easily. “Yes sir,” he said, and reached out with one hand. Daud shied instinctively, ducking to check that it was empty of little things. Like sleep darts. Leon chuckled, and clapped him heavily on the shoulder with his pointedly empty hand. “Do us all a favour. Eat something anyway. Medic’s orders, hmm?”

Daud caught Attano watching him. Caught the bemused, amused expression on his face. He shot _him_ a stink-eye too. Attano only smiled faintly. 

“You … sorted that out too then, did you?” he asked quietly. Flicking a little glance Thomas’ way. Daud didn’t understand him at first. Then he … remembered.

Medics. Thomas telling him that Attano had told them not to push. For reasons of Coldridge, and torture, and knowing when a man needed to crawl out of his own skin in peace. Thomas looking like he’d wanted to crawl _his_ way out of his skin. Daud caving to Leon anyway. Just for that.

Sorted that out. Yes. He supposed they had. In a manner of speaking.

Attano looked away again. Dipped his head, away from Daud’s face. Whatever expression might happen to be on it. He looked at Leonid instead. And smiled gently.

“I could eat,” he admitted. Light and tired. “If you have something, I won’t say no.”

Leonid all but scrambled to oblige. She threw together a plate from the detritus of the breakfast table, and by some miracle of arrangement managed to make it look … halfway appetising. For a bunch of loose grapes, three triangles of congealed toast, and a couple of strips of fried whale meat long since gone cold. She walked back across the room like Daud hadn’t yanked her clear out of fear for her life, and handed it to him gingerly. 

He took it easily. From the way he held himself, calm and still, Daud could tell he was doing his best not to scare her. He was going about it the wrong way. If he’d snarled and yanked it out of her hands, she’d have punched his nose in and been fine. When he smiled at her, all she did was look _anxious_.

This whole weird … dignity and grace thing was extremely trying on the nerves. Daud could attest to that personally. 

Thankfully, or possibly not so thankfully, a knock sounded on the door before any of them could dwell on it any further. Everybody tensed, slightly. Daud didn’t know if either of them noticed it, but Leonid drifted slightly defensively in front of Attano. Then Fisher poked her head around the door, and almost all of them relaxed.

Or actually all of them. Attano seemed oddly sanguine at her presence as well.

“The Empress is on her way,” Fisher warned. Stepping back into the room with Kieron at her heels. A somewhat unnecessary heads up. Daud sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have left her post otherwise.

Also not that _much_ of a heads up. Since the Empress followed almost on their heels. 

Attano’s expression … changed at the sight of her. Without his leave, Daud thought. She showed up in the doorway, white-clad and determined, her governess almost running behind her, and Attano … stiffened. Froze. A gaping thing opened up in his expression, one that he’d hastily covered over earlier to try and focus on … business. Plans. Functional things. 

He tried to hide it. Almost immediately. He tried to swallow it back down and look down at the plate held in white-knuckled hands. But if Daud had learned one thing about the little Empress so far, it was that she really wasn’t a stupid girl.

“What happened?” she asked. Moving immediately to her father’s side. Skirting Leonid, but in a way that was more glaring at her than afraid of her. She bumped into Attano’s arm, and leaned against it solidly. Comfortingly. “Corvo? Is everything okay?”

There was a creak of warning in her voice. A hint of anger. And just the tiniest, tiniest bit of exasperation. Complete despair of ever safely leaving him alone.

Attano blinked at her for the longest second. And then he … laughed. Softly. Amazedly. And put his plate down to scoop her gently to his side. 

She curled into him easily. Wrapped her arm around his waist without a thought. Still glaring up at Leonid, and anyone else who looked like they might make an unfortunate move. Attano closed his eyes, and rested his cheek on top of her head. Wrapped both arms around her, and held her close. She hugged him back as much as she could while effectively standing guard.

“… Nothing’s wrong,” he said softly. Leaning back to look down at her. Seeing … nothing behind her eyes that wasn’t herself, Daud imagined. Nothing that had been ripped up, torn out, or replaced by a mad witch. Quaking faintly with the relief of it. “It’s all right, Emily. Nothing’s wrong.”

She did not even _remotely_ believe him. Daud didn’t blame her either. Attano couldn’t lie for shit.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Gently, but a little disgruntledly. She glanced at Daud. “Did the … Did the thing do something again? Is anyone hurt?”

Which was … charitable of her to assume. Instead of … a myriad of other things.

But Attano had gathered himself up again. Had pulled himself back under control. He let her go a bit, let her step back, and took her hand in his. 

“Everything’s fine,” he said, and properly this time. Believably. “I promise. We’re all … We’re all safe. Nobody’s hurt. I was just … going to eat something.” 

He moved his hand sideways. Tapped the plate gently. Emily squinted suspiciously at him. And then up at Leonid, the presumable source of this bounty. Daud couldn’t see Leonid’s expression from this angle, but judging by her shoulders he imagined she was grimacing down at the girl in what she hoped was a reassuring expression. Daud … did not give good odds for her success.

But maybe the Empress was tired of conversational minefields too. She sighed heavily. Crossed her arms and leaned against her father’s shoulder.

“Well,” she decided grumpily. “At least they’re good for _something_, then.”

And Daud honestly couldn’t tell if they were being damned with faint praise, or lauded from on high.

He was too tired to find out either way.


End file.
